Hey Jude
by kuschelirmel
Summary: Methos as a biker in LA, going after another Immortal - since when does Methos actively participate in the Game? He must have his reasons... "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I'm one of the good guys. I haven't been in years. But I can help you, maybe more than you think." Work-in-Progress, no slash, rated T for violence
1. Chapter 1

"The boss wants to see you," Don said after ringing off. If Methos hadn't known better, he would've thought his partner looked worried. But he knew better.

He nodded in acknowledgement and downed his whiskey before following Don outside to their bikes. Finally, after almost a year of running errands, he would see if all of this was going to pay off at last. While driving, he concentrated on the patches on Don's jacket. The skull in the middle reflected the light of the street lamps, almost seeming to glow with its bright red and white on the dark leather jacket. What an inventive logo for the _Skulls MC, Los Angeles Chapter_, Methos mused not for the first time in the past year. And yet, he looked forward to complimenting his own jacket which currently only sported the lettering. Maybe tonight was the night.

They pulled up at the back door of _The Crash Club_ and entered unceremoniously. While dodging through the kitchen Don said, "you'll have to give up your weapons before you can pass to Assaro. Do both of us a favour and don't make a scene."

Before Methos could answer, Don went into a room so small that already seemed overcrowded by the two goons standing next to another door at the back. Their jackets were thrown haphazardly over the two armchairs at the side, bare shoulder holsters showing off their semi-automatic guns. The shorter of the two stepped forward.

"Hand me your weapons", he barked in a tone that made it clear he was used to being obeyed.

With a smile that could have frozen the Los Angeles Reservoir in an instant, Methos pulled out his gun and put it on the tiny coffee table. Then he removed his sword from his coat's lining. With satisfaction, he watched the short one's eyes widen for a second before the bodyguard resumed his stoic stare.

The taller one motioned Methos over and patted him down, removing his back-up knife from its boot strap. He didn't even raise an eyebrow as he handed it to his partner.

"You can go in now."

"Are you coming?" Methos turned to Don.

"I was just supposed to bring you." Don shrugged. And there that look was again, that almost-worried one. "But I can wait here if you like."

"I don't think I need a babysitter." And with that, Methos was through the door.

He felt him before he saw him sitting at a long table. Phil Assaro looked much as Methos had expected, with a biker's jacket and leather trousers, but the clean shaven face and watchful eyes of the mafioso Methos knew Assaro was at heart.

Methos made sure Assaro caught his slightly panicked look back to the outer room where his sword leaned uselessly against an armchair before moving a mere inch toward the man. Assaro in turn smiled pleasantly as if he had expected that reaction as he filled a second glass with red wine, compounding to the mafia image.

"Come, sit with me." Assaro's baritone voice was not loud so much as carrying, filling the whole room easily.

As if suddenly plucking up the courage, Methos crossed to the table. He eyed the other man suspiciously, but didn't sit down.

"Why did you want to see me?"

Assaro's smile stopped reaching to his eyes as he made a tsk-ing sound.

"Where are your manners, young man?" He put forth his right hand. "I'm Philip Assaro." His handshake was firm, but not crushing. "And you must be Jude Nichols."

"Yes."

Assaro genially indicated the chair next to him and Methos finally sat down, feeling the other man's eyes scrutinizing his every move. Now may not be the moment he got his patch, but it was even more crucial. Methos busied himself with staring at the proffered wine as if he'd never drunk any before. Jude probably hadn't. Jude hadn't done a lot of things, but he had other qualities Methos hoped Assaro would try to exploit.

Assaro took a sip of his wine leaning back in his chair. He had all the time in the world and he was going to let Jude feel it.

"You should try it," he said indicating the other man's untouched glass. "It's imported from Sicilly. That's in Italy."

When no reaction came from the young man, he leaned forward again with a sigh.

"How long have you been in the Game?"

Methos didn't let the triumph show that this question brought him. You didn't ask that sort of thing unless you were sure the other immortal was a complete newbie. Anyone longer in the Game was sure to take offense at such a blunt question designed to estimate the other's fighting skills and experience.

"Long enough to know that that is none of your business," he replied gruffly. Jude may have been new to the Game, but he certainly wasn't brain dead.

Assaro just nodded appraisingly.

"Fair enough. But let me tell you what I was able to gather about you from my… associates. At least the Reader's Digest version." With that he relaxed back into his chair and started to tell Jude his own life story as if it were one of the Brother Grimm's fairy tales.

"You were brought up in Monte Vista, Colorado, with nothing to do but help on your parents' farm and try to avoid being dragged into church almost daily. As soon as you were old enough to get a license, you got one for a motorcycle. The matching bike you bought from all the money you had saved up but couldn't spend because in Monte Vista, there just is nothing to spend money on for a teenager." He shrugged as if to say he would've done the same.

"Your parents continued to support you throughout your first years working at the local auto shop even though they were worried that their boy would turn from God's path with his leather outfit, rock music and ear studs. They tried to bring you back into the flock, to see the light, but one night, you just couldn't bear it anymore."

"You had just gotten your first tattoo, the eagle on your shoulder, and your Dad was giving you a hard time about it, when your Mom came downstairs saying she had done what she should've done years ago. She had contacted the priest to do an exorcism. Your Dad just nodded as if she were about to solve all his problems in one fell swoop. You tried to leave, but he wouldn't let you, so you shoved him. He fell unfortunately, hitting his head on the door frame, but all you could think of was to get away. So you ran and left our mother to call an ambulance."

Assaro took a sip of his wine. The story was having the intended effect on Jude, who just kept staring straight into nothingness. Eyes apparently focused on memories.

"It was only three days later that you read in the papers of your father's death. But by then, too much had happened for you to go back. Not only did your mother still think you needed an exorcism, but your bike had been reduced to so much scrap metal. The doctors had said that after that kind of accident, it was a miracle you survived unharmed."

Jude shifted uneasily in his chair.

"From that day, you never again set foot in Monte Vista. In fact, you left Colorado entirely and changed your name to Jude. When you got down to Dallas, you met Peter Gilmore who taught you about the Game and instructed you on how to hold a sword. He lost his head a little over a year ago, leaving you to fend for yourself. That was when you came to LA and joined our little group."

He paused for effect, taking another sip of wine before continuing, "I hear you are quite proficient in getting people to pay their debts."

* * *

Abby was stuck in traffic like usual, but still she was humming along to the radio, beaming and drumming on the steering wheel. She had the week off and was en route to the police station where she would meet Nick to take him out for lunch. With plenty of time to get there and nothing else to occupy her, she let her mind wander to their first encounter.

She had just been hired by the _L.A. Observer_ when Nick had help her with some research for a story. The article itself had been nothing special, just a report on how budget cuts were weighing down on the Los Angeles Police Department. Nothing had come of the story, but what had started with a simple interview had soon taken a life of its own. And here she was, singing "Walking on Sunshine" at the top of her lungs as traffic resumed. Life was good and she intended to live it, no matter the consequences.

Abby was still grinning like a teenage girl when she arrived at the station. The receptionist's bad mood couldn't touch her and neither could the woman's statement that Nick had been delayed and would be with her shortly.

"You can take a seat over there," the receptionist announced pointing toward a small waiting area.

Abby just shrugged and took the hint to leave the woman alone. She took a seat next to a magazine rack. She started flipping through some of them, but all were old issues of tabloids or dealt with motor sports.

She had been waiting for about ten minutes, when she observed a man in biker attire come down the corridor. He was accompanied by a man wearing a suit, clearly his lawyer, who seemed to be talking incessantly in a low voice. The biker seemed unfazed by the onslaught of words and just kept going. As they came down the three steps that separated the receptionist's desk from the waiting area, Abby's heart skipped a beat.

It couldn't be him.

Adam had left her without so much as a goodbye years ago, in Paris nonetheless. That was all the way over the Atlantic, she reminded herself as she stared at the biker. So no, it couldn't be him. But he sure looked like him. The nose, the eyes, even way he wore his long coat looked familiar.

But long hair? And what about the rest of the biker look? She shook her head. No, it must have been a trick of her overactive imagination. Besides all, Adam was not the type to get arrested. Or was he? The look of determination on the guy's face as he'd marched out was one she's seen Adam wear more than once. The last time she'd seen him with that look had been when he took off.

_"You just don't get it!" Adam spat as he whirled around to face her. "This is not just going to go away." He indicated himself, then threw up his hands in frustration. "You don't know me and it may be better if you never did."_

_Startled, Abby watched as he stomped out of her apartment. _

Abby had thought then that he'd calm down soon enough, but instead, he'd just vanished. Maybe he'd been right. She didn't know him at all. So who was she to say that that biker-getup was "not like him"?

She was still staring at the door that had closed behind the two men as they were leaving when Nick's voice snapped her back into the here and now.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," he said kissing her on the cheek. "We brought one of those biker-types in for questioning this morning, but he wasn't talking. We had to let him go after his lawyer showed up." He sighed. "I'm sorry, I know you're not here for the latest installment of _COPS_."

"No problem, I know you can't always run out as soon as I get here," she replied, automatically falling into their routine and even managing a smile. "And I love _COPS_. You can tell me all about it during lunch."

* * *

Methos slammed the door shut behind him with a loud bang when he stormed into the _Skulls MC_ club house. All eyes were glued to him in anticipation as he made his way straight to Don, who sat at a table at the back playing cards with three other men. The other three backed their chairs away as Methos drew his sword and put it on Don's chest.

"You think that was funny, do you?" Nothing like something long and sharp to make a point, Methos thought satisfied as he saw Don wriggle to get more space between himself and the blade.

"Let me tell you a little secret, Donald. It wasn't." The last part he practically spat at the man, simultaneously making sure Don could feel the tip of the sword through his heavy leather vest.

"It wasn't my idea, I swear!" Don hastily defended himself.

"I told him to wait with calling you a lawyer." Bill called from the other side of the room, stepping into the circle of spectators that had formed around Methos.

Methos turned to glare at the chapter's vice-president.

"I just wanted to see how you'd fare with the cops," Bill mocked holding his gaze with a lazy smile. His arms spread out at his side as if to say 'bring it on'. Methos being called to see the boss without him present had obviously already made it through the grapevine and this was Bill's way of sending a message. Methos sheathed his sword looking around at their audience. Every last one of them was eager to see the show, so he decided to give it to them.

He charged the bigger man straight on knowing he had no chance in a fight, with Bill being roughly double his size. Yet, Methos managed to land an upper-cut on the other man's jaw catching his opponent by surprise. Damage seemed to be minimal as Bill took a swing of his own. Methos dodged that one only to find the side of his face connecting to the other man's fist with a smack. He staggered back holding his jaw. He could taste blood in his mouth and decided that had to have been enough to satisfy Bill's need to show who was the alpha male around here. He was bracing himself for the next round when he saw Bill coming towards him.

"Next time, you won't get away this easily," the big man whispered in his ear before turning on his heels, leaving Methos standing there as the small crowd dispersed. Some went back to their tables, resuming their card play while others headed out and again others went over to Bill to congratulate him on handling the new guy. Only Don hung back, looking sheepish.

"Jude, are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

"It's nothing," Methos muttered. Sometimes he missed Adam, his alter ego. Adam would have never let himself be drawn into a fight like that, let alone come charging in waving his sword around. But neither Adam nor Methos would ever be able to get close to Assaro. Only Jude could, he reminded himself. Besides, it wasn't all bad.

"Let's get some beer," Methos suggested with a crooked smile.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Then**_

Abby was very nearly skipping steps as she bounced toward _Le Blues Bar_. The sun was up high, warming her and memories of the weekend before did the rest to raise her spirits. It had been her premier with the band and the bar had been packed. She suspected she had Joe to thank for that. He was not only the owner of the bar, but also he seemed to be her biggest fan ever since he'd first heard her sing.

That had been a few weeks ago when she'd come into the bar with Kathy and Chantal. They'd decided to go to a party after a beer or two, and while she'd waited for the two to come back from the restrooms, she'd stood at the bar, absentmindedly singing along to the music playing on the stereo. Joe had overheard her and convinced her to come by the next day to meet the live band during rehearsals.

Abby had never before sung in front of an audience or with a band and the experience had been exhilarating to say the least. There were still quite a few things she thought needed work, but all in all, it had been a great evening. Today, another rehearsal was planned before the bar opened its doors for the evening.

Abby knew she was early, so when she opened the door and saw an empty stage she wasn't surprised. What did surprise her a little though, was the guy sprawled in one of the smaller sofas at the side, beer in front of him, immersed in a book. Joe was nowhere to be seen.

She'd seen Adam around a few times; sometimes he came in with McLeod, one of the other regulars, and sometimes he just sat at the bar on his own. Joe had introduced them briefly, but they'd never talked. Unlike McLeod who had immediately started a conversation and who had sat cheering in the front row on Saturday, Adam seemed to be the quiet type.

She had just assumed he was just a regular, the thought he could be a friend of Joe's never occurring to her. But the way he sat there as if it were his own living room clearly meant she'd been mistaken.

He looked up from his book and smiled at her. "Joe's in the back, doing his books."

"Oh, well, I can come back later," Abby said, her stomach choosing that moment to remind her with a loud rumble why she had opted to come early.

"He won't be much longer," Adam replied, putting his novel onto the small table. "Besides, you sound like you could need a bite to eat." With that, he stood and made his way behind the bar, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"You don't have to," she started, but Adam interrupted her before she could protest any further.

"I don't have anything better to do anyway, and I'm actually hungry myself. So sit down while I go get something from the kitchen." And with a wink he vanished behind the door.

Five minutes later, Adam re-emerged with a small tray and two plates packed with sandwiches, the French kind: for each, there was a small baguette with cheese and tomatoes and another one with ham and salad.

"I hope you like this," Adam said as he set the plates down on the table between them.

"Thanks, I sure do."

After eating for a few minutes in silence, Abby asked, "So, you're a friend of Joe's?"

Adam nodded while Abby was mentally kicking herself for the lamest attempt at conversation ever.

"Did you meet through the bar?" _More lameness, great move Abby,_ she thought taking another bite. At least while chewing she would keep her mouth shut.

"Actually, Joe used to have a bookshop before opening the bar," Adam surprised her and it must have shown because he laughed before continuing, "the bar suits him way better. But yeah, we got acquainted when I was writing my thesis at the university here in Paris and he seemed to have all the books I could dream about."

"What did you study?" she asked, curious at the mention of the university.

"Ancient languages, well, what's left of them anyway," he shrugged, "it involves a lot of archeology and a lot of guessing, but I like it. I'm currently working on my doctorate, but it's taking quite some time." He trailed off, glancing at the novel still lying on the table with a grin. "What about you? Mac said you were here on a grant for a year?"

It was Abby's turn to nod. "I study journalism and I wanted to see Europe and learn some French along the way."

"And sing in a bar," Adam winked, polishing off his second baguette.

"Not quite planned like that, but I'll take what I can get," Abby grinned from ear to ear.

"Ah so I was right," Joe was standing in the doorway to his office, "I did hear voices out here. Why didn't you tell me Abby was here?"

* * *

_**Now**_

" Abby!"

Abby looked up from her veggie pizza with bacon only to see the grin on Nick's face spread from ear to ear.

"You haven't heard a word I said, have you?"

She tried to remember if he had asked her something and what the expected reaction might have been, but drew a blank. Within seconds, Abby felt her cheeks grow warm. There was no need to check in a mirror, she knew she was red as a tomato.

Nick laughed, then quickly sobered, "Is everything okay?"

Not trusting herself to say the right thing, Abby just gave a noncommittal shrug. She wanted to tell him, actually desperately so. But how do you tell your boyfriend that you think you just saw your ex who broke your heart almost a decade ago?

"Come on," he looked at her, concern evident in those deep, brown eyes she loved so much. "I know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. This morning on the phone you were euphoric and now you're just staring into space? You've barely said a word since we got here."

He fell silent, eying her across his plate. Then, he reached for her hand over the table and just held it, waiting. Abby stared over his shoulder, unseeing, trying to decide on what to say. At last, she let out a deep breath and refocused on her boyfriend.

"You'll think I've gone nuts," she started, her voice lighter than her heart.

Nick gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

"Earlier, at the station, I think I recognized that biker from my time in Paris."

"When you were there to study?"

"Yes," Abby sighed. That had been the easy part, now came the explanations.

"Wasn't that like ten years ago?"

"Something like that. Yes." She could still lie, tell him it was someone else, spare herself the embarrassment. But she didn't. Couldn't. _Wouldn't_.

"That biker looked like a guy I knew there, not just any guy though. Adam was my boyfriend in Paris. I think I've mentioned him before? He was a British grad student at the Sorbonne, doing something with languages. We met at the bar I used to sing at, cheesy, I know, but he was kinda sweet."

"Woah, slowly," Nick interrupted. To her surprise, he was smiling at her. Actually, he even looked relieved. "So you think you saw your ex? And that is why you've been so preoccupied and quiet? And I thought someone had died or you were going to break up with me."

His laugh made Abby feel silly, she could already feel the redness creep back into her cheeks. Nick used to say she always gave everything too much thought, fretted over nothing.

"That biker's name is Marcus Nichols, calls himself 'Jude'. And he's never been to Paris in his whole life," Nick stated, holding her eyes with his and squeezing her hand.

Abby just stared at him.

"And besides, I don't think he's the kind of guy you would even want to know, let alone date."

"Why's that?"

"He's not just some biker. He rides with the Skulls, albeit not as full member. It's just a matter of time though before they let him in completely. We think he had something to do with the goat's head on Thomas Freudinger's doorstep, which is why we held him for interrogation this morning."

Abby remembered Freudinger's name from quite a few recent headlines. He had been the CEO of the Lost Angeles Savings Bank before it went the same way as many other banks, filing for bankruptcy in late 2009. Still, he got a large amount of money for compensation upon losing his job. His lifestyle had since been attracting tabloids and serious press alike. And then, a few days ago, the story of the goat's head had somehow found its way into the public. Speculations were running wild as to who was responsible and what had actually happened, because Freudinger wasn't talking and neither was his wife.

"What would someone like Freudinger have to do with a biker gang?" Abby asked.

"We think they are involved with the local crime scene in more than just the obvious ways. Normally, motorcycle gangs like the Hells Angels or the Banditos will be involved in drug running and arms smuggling, in prostitution and protection racketing. Stuff like that, where you can prove just how much of a man you are. The Skulls' members still do all of the above, but they also function as debt collectors, go-betweens and security for the local mob. At least we suspect they do."

"I thought other gangs did similar things, what makes this so different?"

"Ordinarily, a motorcycle gang would never do anything that would make them dependant on anything or anyone else. They value their freedom and their way of life. They like to play tough and pride themselves on getting money from illegal activities, but only enough money so they can maintain their lifestyle. They don't do what they do for profit."

"And the Skulls do?" It was an intriguing thought and it made Freudinger and his money fit in rather well, Abby had to admit.

"At least we think so. Their president, Philip Assaro, seems to have quite a few connections. And while he dresses, talks and rides like a biker, he certainly doesn't share their _tastes_."

Abby's eyebrow went up at the way Nick emphasized the last word.

"When's the last time you heard of a biker with a knack for expensive wine? Exactly. Never. And that's just one of the curious things that are going on there." Nick paused suddenly as if remembering that he was a cop who shouldn't be talking that openly about an ongoing investigation.

Abby stared at the remnants of her cold pizza, her mind wandering back to the encounter in the police department's lobby. He had looked so much like Adam. Hair could grow and be cut again, clothing could be changed, but she still could have sworn it was him.

"What about Nichols involvement in all this?" she asked, not knowing if she really _wanted_ to hear whatever it was he'd done.

Nick hesitated. "He's one of those doing the dirty work," he finally said evasively.

They'd known each other long enough for him to realize she wouldn't just let this go; Abby was counting on that as she held his gaze, willing him to tell her what she _needed_ to know.

"As I said, we suspect he had something to do with the goat's head and the possible threats against Freudinger," Nick gave in with a sigh. "He doesn't seem to be the most stable person in the world, but he seems to be the guy the organization sends when someone needs to be _persuaded_. It's always difficult to say where exactly someone like that has been involved in because the victims are usually crooks and intimidated ones at that. They don't talk."

"But?"

"He likes to carry a sword around with him that not only serves him well for intimidation, but that will sometimes make the crooks so scared that they do mention it to us."

* * *

_**Then**_

Abby stood in front of Adam's apartment building, hesitating for a second before pushing the button next to _N. Pigeot._ Adam had told her he had moved in the year before but always forgot to change the name on the bell plate. That was so typically Adam that she had to grin as she pushed open the buzzing door. Why waste time on something so insignificant and mundane as changing a name tag when old civilizations could be discovered or a beer was to be had?

Adam was standing in the door of his apartment waiting for her as she came up the steps making sure she didn't go past his door. Abby's gaze wandered curiously over his shoulder as he hugged her and they exchanged hellos. She had never been to his apartment before. Adam took her coat before ushering her through the narrow hallway.

"Now take a left into the kitchen," he guided though she could have easily guessed by the smell of tomatoes, bell peppers and garlic with chicken wafting through the half open door.

The room was very light with a modern stainless steel counter contrasting the high stucco ceiling of the old building. The chaos that was spreading across it all was clearly owing to Adam's attempt at cooking everything from scratch.

"Hmm, that smells delicious!" Abby stooped down to take a look into the oven where the chicken had to be roasting.

With a grin, Adam handed her a glass of red wine.

"No beer today?" Abby asked feigning shock.

"Nope," Adam smiled as they clinked their glasses together. "For this, wine's better."

He gestured for her to follow him into the adjacent living room where he had set a table for two. Abby had never seen anything quite like this room before, so instead of sitting down she only put her glass aside and started slowly going through the room.

Adam watched her silently, leaning against a book shelf, as she inspected the old tomes' spines before letting her gaze wander over some framed manuscripts and finally resting on the three swords displayed on the far wall.

"Quite the collection you've got here," Abby finally said, stepping closer to the swords. They looked like they should be in a museum rather than in some small apartment in Paris.

Adam seemed to be used to the reaction, "just some odds and ends I've picked up during my studies," he shrugged. "The swords are from different periods, but they look more valuable than they are."

"Why swords?" Abby asked curiously. The books and manuscripts and little trinkets lying about she could all understand had something to do with his work.

Again he shrugged, "I find them fascinating. You can learn quite much about someone from their weapons."

When she raised an eyebrow in question, he explained, "Sometimes, they were worn like someone today would drive an expensive car, as a symbol of status. If you had enough money, you could get one with intricate carvings or set with precious stones, for example. The ones here are rather ordinary, though."

"Ordinary, hm?" Abby teased, "you're the only person who can make it sound perfectly normal to have swords on display like that."

"Each has its own story," he admitted, "but they would bore you and the chicken would probably dry out before we were even through the preliminaries." Taking his own cue, Adam left her standing in front of the swords to get their dinner out of the oven.

* * *

_**Now**_

"So, what did Assaro want from you?" Don asked eagerly.

They were sitting in the club house, in a booth at the far back where they couldn't be easily overheard.

Jude shrugged, "What do _you_ think?"

Don's gaze wandered to the sword that was lying on the table. He could still feel its tip piercing through the thick leather of his jacket as if it were not there at all. He had seen what Jude could do with it and it didn't take a genius to guess which of Jude's talents had drawn the boss's favour.

"Does someone need to be convinced to pay his debts again?"

"Clearly," was all the other man said.

"If you don't wanna tell me, that's fine." Don threw up his hands in a _I-just-wanted-to-be-polite_-gesture, his tone negating his words. "I just thought you could need a hand, with the cops being all over you."

Jude's look made it painfully clear to Don that he could have chosen his words more carefully. Not only Jude's sword had contributed to his reputation, but also his mood swings were legendary. And nothing set him off like the suggestion that he could be needing help or someone prying into what he considered to be none of their business. Don had just realized he had managed to do both, when Jude's glare suddenly turned from hostile to thoughtful.

"Maybe you can."

"I can?"

"Yes, but I'll have to think about it."

* * *

Abby knew Nick had still not told her everything there was to know. She suspected he was sparing her the details of the _persuasion methods_ Nichols was applying. Nick had seemed relieved when she'd dropped the subject and she had been glad when they'd parted ways so he could go back to work.

She needed time to think.

Back at her apartment, she went through what she called her _memory boxes_ – they were shoe boxes stacked on the top shelf of her closet, each loaded with all kinds of little things she'd collected over the years along with pictures and post cards. She found the one with her Paris collection and started to spread the contents out on her bed: a key chain sporting the Eiffel Tower, post cards of all the sights, a receipt from a café on Montmartre with doodles on it. Beneath all of that was the stack of photographs she'd been after.

The first few had been taken on campus. Snapshots of her and some of her friends in front of various sights followed. Then, finally, she found the ones that had been taken at _Le Blues Bar_. She and Joe, the owner, grinning into the camera after her first gig, Abby and the band, Abby during the set,… There were some pictures of Joe and Duncan and even some of Amanda. The only picture of Adam where more than just the back of his head or his elbow were visible, was one where he was holding a beer straight into the camera, the glass obscuring the view so that only his eyes could be clearly seen above the rim.

_"You and your camera," Adam laughed, taking it from Abby's hands. "You know how I hate being in those."_

_"I know, but come on, I want to have something to remember my time in Paris by when I go back to the States," she pouted, playfully going after the camera. It would still be a while before she had to go back, but Abby loved collecting memories and pictures were one of her favourite ways to do so._

_"Can't you just remember me because I left an impression?" he grinned as he held the camera aloft, out of her reach._

_"Oh you certainly have done that already, but I still want a picture." She was now trying to jump so she could grab the camera._

_Laughing, Adam relented the camera to her, "all right, just this once, but promise you won't put me through this again."_

_"Promise!" Abby smiled, pulling him toward her to kiss him._

She found the picture mixed in with the last batch. It had been a sunny day in early spring, still cold but with the promise of renewal in the air. Little had she known then that this would indeed be the only picture she'd be left with from their time together.

The likeness was stunning.

She realized then that she'd hoped her mind had been playing tricks on her, that Adam in fact looked thinner or that his face was more rounded or whatever. Anything really to prove to her beyond a doubt that it could not be him. But the opposite was the case. At least from what she remembered from the mere seconds it had taken Nichols to pass her by.

She let her eyes wander over the pictures and memorabilia she had spread out all around her. Her gaze stopped at the pictures of the bar. Joe had introduced them and as far as she'd been able to tell, Adam and Joe had been friends for quite some time. It hadn't stopped Adam from disappearing on Joe as well, but maybe he had contacted him since. It was worth a shot, so she picked up the phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Their first stop was a diner. Don and Methos sat down at the bar while the waitress did her best to ignore them completely. She stood at the other end shuffling some notes around as if trying to decide which order to complete first. It was obvious from the lack of patrons though that there was in fact nothing to decide.

"She's gotta be new," Don rolled his eyes.

Methos used the sugar sprinkler to get the girl's attention. He smacked it down hard on the bar, the noise making her jump.

"What can I do for you?" she sighed, clearly not interested in the answer.

"You can go into the kitchen and get the envelope with the money," Methos smiled at her.

Her eyes widened a little as she seemed to actually look at the two bikers in front of her for the first time. Then she turned on her heels and made a beeline for the kitchen.

As the door swung shut behind her, Don grinned, "Maybe she's not so new after all."

"And maybe she just talked to the waitress that was here last time when we had our little chat with Danny."

Before Don could reply, the girl came back with an envelope that she threw onto the bar in front of them as if it were poisonous by touch.

Methos picked it up to count the money. When he was done, he smiled at her again. "See, that wasn't so hard. You can tell Danny if he keeps this up, he'll have the best protection one could ever hope for. Even though I must say I find it a little rude of him not to be here in person."

The waitress swallowed visibly. As far as Methos knew, the owner of the diner could hardly be here himself as he was probably still not able to walk and he, most likely had to eat through a straw for a little while longer as well. He should have thought of that before running to the _Muertos_ for help. That Spanish biker gang had been a pain in the _Skulls'_ asses for some time and it wouldn't do to yield even the fraction of an inch when it got down to it.

Methos handed the envelope over to Don as they left the diner.

"Let's go for the _Twisted Sisters_ next," Methos announced as they mounted their rides.

There were still half a dozen shops left to visit between the diner and the _Twisted Sisters_ strip club, so Don looked a question at him.

"Something's off today," was all Methos let on before cranking up the engine. He looked around attentively as he weaved into traffic.

Ever since they'd left the club house, he had felt watched. He had thought he'd seen red Volkswagen follow them to the diner, but he couldn't spot it now, yet he knew it was around here somewhere. Maybe the cops were following him around. And maybe Assaro had decided to keep an eye on him after their conversation. One way or the other, he intended to find out. What any of them would be doing in a 20 year old Jetta just added to his curiosity.

He looked in his rear view mirror only to see Don following him. If it were the cops, at least Don had the money instead of him. But Methos doubted they would make a move unless they saw something that connected him to the Freudinger case. After the three unproductive hours in custody that morning, they wouldn't be arresting him again without proof.

As they slowed down to take a left into a calmer and somewhat seedier side street, Methos briefly saw something red and angular behind them. They parked in front of the club and the bouncer nodded to them as they passed him by. He would be keeping an eye on their bikes.

Once inside, Methos nodded to Don. "You go ahead, I have to take care of something."

"Would that _something_ go by the name of Diamond by any chance?" Don leered.

Methos ignored the comment and made his way toward the back where the girls' dressing rooms were located. None of the women spared him a second glance as he headed through the corridor. He slipped out the back door intent on doubling back and finding out just who was so keen on knowing where he went.

* * *

Abby sat in her car parked just close enough to the _Twisted Sisters'_ entrance to be able to see who came and went, but far enough away under a broken street light so that she would not be spotted. She stared at the bikes parked out front and wondered not for the first time tonight what had gotten into her.

Joe still had the bar in Paris, but he hadn't been able to help her out with a reassuring 'Oh Adam, yeah, he's contacted me and he's fine'. There also had been no 'he's in Paris/London/Europe/wherever-but-far-from-L.A.' much to Abby's disappointment.

Joe had been thrilled to hear she was fine and he'd wanted to know about her and her life and they'd chatted for a bit before she finally mustered the courage to ask about Adam. It had been like someone had flicked a switch as Joe's voice had become sad and thoughtful. No, he hadn't heard even one word from Adam in all that time.

Abby regretted it a little to have dragged up all those old memories. Joe had been a little like family when she'd been in Paris and she didn't want to hurt him. But hearing his voice had been good and she'd promised herself to call more often to check in on him.

In the end, the phone call had left her with the same questions she'd had before and after a few more hours of going through memories and mulling things over, she just couldn't bear sitting around any longer.

Abby had waited in front of the club house for Nichols to leave, hoping to get a good look at him that would serve to show her that Nick had been right and the man could not be Adam.

But now, sitting in her old Jetta with its worn out seats and drafty windows, she started to doubt her sanity, because from what she had been able to tell from afar, he still reminded her strongly of Adam. She couldn't get close enough to tell with any kind of certainty, though. Abby already felt like she was sticking out like a sore thumb, no matter in which dark corner she was hiding, so trying to sneak closer was not an option.

She sighed. She should just chalk it up as dumb idea and go home. Or better, go meet Nick and let him take her mind off things. She had just started to rummage through her hand bag on the passenger's seat looking for her cell phone when a draft of air followed by the thump of the back door being shut sent a chill down her spine. Before Abby could turn around, she felt something cold and sharp against her neck.

"You're not a cop," came a matter-of-fact voice from the backseat as the man shifted the knife slightly to make room for his other arm to reach through the gap between seats and drag her bag to the back.

Abby could hear him turn the contents upside down and wriggled a little in her seat so she could see a bit more of him in the rear view mirror. She didn't dare strain too much though.

"What do you want?"

"I could ask you that same question, Miss Jensen," the man replied with a dangerous calmness. Looking up from her wallet, his gaze meet hers in the mirror.

It was Nichols, Abby realized with a start. He had seen her follow him. Oh damn, damn, damn!

"You're a reporter," again, just stating facts. "Why are you so interested in me?"

"It has nothing to do with me being a reporter." Abby replied hastily. Her pulse had slowed down enough to make thinking an option again, not enough to get some sense to go with it though. "I saw you at the police station this morning and you reminded me of someone I once knew."

Abby didn't know just what exactly she had expected to see on Nichols' face, maybe shock or mockery, but certainly not what the rearview mirror showed her. Nichol's face was blank. A few seconds ticked by before he seemed to make up his mind.

"Now that's the dumbest excuse I've ever heard." An icy smile spread across his face as the knife's pressure against her neck increased. Leaning forward, he added, "whichever story you're after, forget about it. Remember that I know who you are."

The threat was still lingering in the air when Abby heard the car door slam shut behind Nichols. Her heart was racing as she felt her neck. Her hand came away without a drop of blood, but that didn't do much to calm her. With a shaking hand, she put the car into gear and headed away as fast as she could without speeding.

* * *

Methos waited in the shadows for Abby to leave before making his way back into the club. Where the hell had she come from anyway? What were the freaking odds of her of all people showing up here? And why now of all times, now that he felt so close to his goal?

He shook his head to clear it before stepping through the back door. Then he went straight to the bar for a beer. Absently picking at the bottle's label, he let his mind wander. It had only been a few months of dating, but Methos remembered Abby well. He could still see her nervousness before a gig or an exam, could still hear her early attempts at mastering French and he remembered how fast she'd learned the language once she'd gotten more into it. He could see her smile on their first date and her distress when he'd left her standing in her apartment that day.

But that was then it this was now. This was what he had left for, in a way at least. Methos would finish what he'd started and he could not let her interfere. He was confident he had scared her off for now, but with Abby there was no telling if her stubborn streak wouldn't just surface and she would stay on his heels now more than ever.

Then there was still the question of why she'd been at the police station in the first place. Or what she was doing in L.A. Maybe she was running a story on the _Skulls_ and that in turn could well jeopardize what he had so long planned for.

He would have to do some research on Abigail Jensen before he could keep going.

* * *

Methos checked up on Abby as soon as he got home. He'd had to finish collecting on the shops and bars first so Don would not get suspicious. The dim rocker had thought he'd been in the back with Diamond, a stripper that had shown her favour for Jude quite a few times in the past. Even though it was rather late after that, Methos was way too curious to delay his online search until the morning.

What Methos found did not answer all his questions, but most of them: the reason Abby was in town was that her parents lived in Santa Clarita. Her mother had fallen ill a few years ago and Abby wanted to be close by in case things got worse and her parents would need her. According to the records, the red, old Jetta had been her father's car for many years. Methos suspected he had given it to Abby as a sort of thank you gesture for moving closer to home again. From what he remember Abby telling him in Paris, her father wasn't exactly the warmest, feelings-in-the-open kind of guy and had always found it hard to show his love for his kids with words.

Methos couldn't find any particular reason for Abby to be at the police station, but in the end, the reason didn't really matter, because if she'd been there to report something stolen or meet with someone or whatever else was none of his concern. He was fairly certain that it had nothing to do with him or the _Skulls_. The meeting had most likely been a coincidence that paired with her curiosity and stubbornness had led her to seek him out at the club house of the biker gang whose lettering he sported rather prominently on his jacket. It didn't take a genius to follow that lead, Methos thought with a roll of his eyes.

The only question that remained was if Abby would back down. No part of the internet could ever tell him that. He'd just have to wait and see.

Out of habit, he hacked into the Watcher database to see if there were any new Immortals in town that he should know of. At least for the older immortals he should be getting a heads up that way. Ever since the incident with Jack Shapiro trying to turn the Watchers onto his new and righteous path and the tribunals that followed in the aftermath, the organization had been somewhat shorthanded. With potential Watchers no longer being readily recruited and instead being watched and evaluated themselves before being offered a position, the ranks were refilling slowly. That fact served Methos rather well when it came to Jude being deemed too young and unimportant to be assigned a Watcher, but it also made his mission tricky.

There was no telling how many younger immortals were in town and if they were working for Assaro. The Italian had made it a habit in the past to surround himself with a few younglings who he could easily control and manipulate into fighting his fights for him.

As if on cue, Methos stiffened with the Buzz of an Immortal Quickening touching his senses. He grabbed his sword, a rapier not unlike the one Richie used to carry. His Ivanhoe was safely stashed away in a vault in Geneva.

"Jude, open up," an impatient voice demanded.

"It's late," Methos replied grumpily opening the door for Taylor Danes.

"I know," Taylor shrugged adding "the old man would like to know when he can expect delivery," as if this would explain why he was barging into Jude's home in the middle of the night. In a way, Methos supposed it did. Assaro was not the patient kind.

"You work for Assaro?" Methos asked, acting surprised.

"Sure do. Doesn't everyone in a way?"

Methos conceded with a shrug of his own, the smug grin on Taylor's face reinforcing what he'd suspected. Taylor had been keeping an eye on him for the past weeks, befriending him to report back to Assaro. And the assignment was a test of his worthiness to be admitted into Assaro's circles.

"So?" Taylor brought him back on topic.

"Tomorrow, he'll get what he asked for tomorrow," Methos told him showing him out the door. "Now, let me get back to my preparations."

* * *

Pushing open the door to _Le Blues Bar_, Amanda felt her heart beating a little faster. Joe had sounded worried and excited at the same time when he'd called her that morning, telling her to come to the bar in the afternoon, only cryptically hinting he'd have complete a few more checks until then and that he needed a favour.

She found him huddled over one of the tables, its top as well as the chairs nearby were buried under stacks of papers. When Joe saw her, he clear one of the chairs for her to sit on. "Hi Manda, thank you for coming," he said as she draped her coat across the chair's back and sat down.

"Of course I came. So what's this about?" Amanda watched him intently as he shuffled through his papers, looking for something specific. When he found it, he handed Amanda a thin file with the Watcher logo and a name on the cover.

"Who's Peter Gilmore?" Amanda asked, willing Joe to get to the point.

Joe took a deep breath, as if to calm his excitement. "Look inside, look at the pictures!"

Amanda raised her eyebrow questioningly, but did as she was told. Why couldn't Joe just come out and say whatever he was going to say already? When she opened the file and rifled through the photos within, her heart nearly stopped.

"That guy looks like Methos!" she exclaimed staring at a picture of two men sitting on a porch having a beer.

"I think it _is_ him," Joe nodded. "He's on a few of the photos Peter Gilmore's Watcher took. The ones with Methos in them span approximately a year before Gilmore lost his head to an unknown immortal. Methos is listed under the name of Matthew "Jude" Nichols as Gilmore's student."

Joe let the information sink in before he continued, "To the Watchers, Nichols is just another young immortal who barely knows enough to hold a sword. They didn't assign a Watcher to him, he only ever pops up in other people's chronicles as a side note, mostly when he has taken the head of whoever got in his way." He gestured to the other files and news paper clippings strewn about. "He's been riding with the _Skulls MC_ in Los Angeles."

Amanda shook her head in astonishment. "What tipped you off?" This was where the old man had been hiding? As rookie immortal in a motorcycle gang, living outside the law and headhunting whenever it pleased him?

"I got a call from Abby. You remember her?"

"She was Adam's girlfriend before he vanished," Amanda confirmed. "How did _she_ find him then?"

"Pure coincidence. She was at the police station to meet her boyfriend when Nichols was released from questioning and she recognized him. She called me to ask if I'd heard from Adam. When I said I hadn't she told me how she'd seen that guy who looked like Adam Pierson…" he let the sentence trail off. Joe cleared his throat before continuing in a voice full of sadness and hope, "I need to know if it's really him."

Amanda nodded as she took Joe's hands into hers and squeezed them gently. Methos' disappearance had been hard on Joe. They had parted in anger, with Joe blinded by loss accusing Methos of running instead of sticking by his friend when it had counted the most. Amanda hadn't witnessed the argument itself, but Joe had told her enough for her to suspect that it had been heated enough to drive Methos away. Or at least to make Joe think it did.

Joe needed to find him to make things right again. And by what she'd just learned, Methos could definitely use a friend right about now. The old man falling back into his Horseman days, riding with a gang and wreaking havoc as he pleased couldn't be a good sign.

4


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **sorry for taking so long to update, I've hit a bit of a dry spell, but I think I'm through it now. Still, I would love to hear any thoughts about the story (do you think the characters behave fairly realistic? did I make any mistakes language-wise (my first language is not English)? etc)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Methos got up early, despite the late night in front of the PC. Taylor's visit had made it clear that Assaro was not going to wait much longer, so Methos needed to fill the last few gaps in his plan fast and without the luxury of waiting out the situation with Abby first.

He wasn't worried about the cops arresting him. All they had so far was suspicions about him. If there had been anything solid, they wouldn't have let him walk as soon as his lawyer had finally shown up. What worried him a little though was the police car stationed outside Thomas Freudinger's home. He would have to get in and out without them noticing and he needed to do it tonight.

After finishing his coffee, Methos chose some boring street clothes from the back of his closet. Dressed in light jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that hid his tattoos from prying eyes, he left his apartment through the back door. He flagged down a taxi as soon as he was satisfied he wasn't being followed by anyone, be it the police or Abby. Exchanging the taxi for a silver rental Mercedes with tinted windows he headed into the hills to get a better idea of Freudinger's neighbourhood.

As he had hoped, the Merc blended right in. This couldn't be said for the beaten Ford parked right outside the front gates to Freudinger's residence. _The expected protection detail_, Methos scoffed as he drove by slowly. He kept his attention on the two police men who seemed to be doing anything but watching the road. _This is almost ridiculous. The villa is a modern-day fortress and still those two are positioned here._

Methos shook his head wondering what the two had done to deserve such a boring assignment as he drove around the corner. Assaro had given him the blueprints to the place including the code to disarm the security alarm. That combined with a few skills he'd picked up along the way left no doubt in his mind he could get in and out undetected through the neighbour's garden.

* * *

Abby hadn't slept well, with vivid dreams that included her ex-boyfriend holding a knife to her throat haunting her and waking her up constantly. _Thank God I don't have to work today_, Abby thought as she once again went into the kitchen for coffee. A yawn escaped her as she emptied the pot and took the mug with her into the study.

The afternoon sun illuminated the book shelf on the far wall._ Such a beautiful day and all you do is sit inside and brood_, she chastised herself as she sunk into her chair and the computer monitor blocked her view of the outside world once more. Abby's hand moved the mouse and clicked on links while her eyes read articles about Lady Gaga, the latest weather report and whatever else would present itself, but her mind registered very little of what was written.

The loud ringing of the telephone startled Abby so much that she almost spilled her coffee all over the keyboard. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs she went to answer the phone.

"Hey Abby, it's Nick. Are you ready for the party?"

_Oh shit, Linda's birthday! _Linda was Nick's niece and it was her 10th birthday today – something Abby had totally forgotten about.

"Umh," Abby started, looking around for a clock. Three thirty and she was still in her pajamas. "When did you say we should be there?"

"Well, the invitation says five, but I don't think we can make it on time as I have to finish up a report first. I could be at your apartment at five, is that okay?"

_One and a half hours, that should be doable._ "Sure thing, see you then!" she replied as cheerfully as she could manage. Putting the phone away she went for the bathroom, trying to convince herself that a nice hot shower and a bit of company would do her good.

* * *

Nick put the used plates into the dishwasher and straightening almost knocked over his sister who had breezed into the kitchen with the leftovers of the barbeque.

"Can you hand me the plastic wrap?" Carol put the large plates down on the counter. "It's down there," she grinned, gesturing towards three drawers simultaneously, "somewhere."

Nick was left to guess which she'd meant, but he knew it was no use asking for more specific directions. He opened one drawer after the other until he found what he was looking for and triumphantly held the packet aloft, keeping it out of his sister's reach for a few seconds longer than necessary before handing it over with a broad grin of his own.

Nick glanced toward the backyard where Linda and a couple of other children her age were chasing each other over the lawn while the adults were mostly sitting around a long table, holding their bellies with one hand and their beer in the other. The sight made him content. _I should really come by more often,_ he resolved, fully aware that he probably wouldn't go through with it. _I always say I will,_ he sighed.

"Is everything alright?" Carol inquired as she put the leftover meat onto a smaller plate and covered it with wrap, all the while keeping her eyes on her brother.

"Sure," Nick replied, "why wouldn't it be?"

"You sighed," she stated flatly, "and besides, Abby's been awfully quiet all evening. Have you two had a fight or something?"

"No!" he exclaimed immediately. By the arching of Carol's eyebrow that had come too fast. _But we _haven't_ been fighting. _"We barely talked on our way over," he defended.

"And you don't find that the least bit odd?" Carol prompted.

"I guess it is," Nick admitted, "I was so wrapped up in work…" The look Carol shot him made him leave the sentence hanging in the air. "I'll go find out what's bothering Abby," _and_ _I have a strong feeling it's not about _me_ no matter how you keep glaring at me, sis._ But he kept that to himself as he turned on his heels.

He found Abby leaning on the front porch's railing, staring towards where the mountains would have been visible if it hadn't been for the typical Los Angeles smog. She didn't turn to face him, but Nick could tell she'd heard him step onto the deck by the way she shifted her weight and took a sip of wine.

Nick wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her head. He could feel Abby pressing closer for a few seconds before she abruptly tore away and turned to face him.

"I did something really, _really_ stupid," she confessed, her eyes searching his for a reaction.

Nick's heart beat faster as he held her gaze, trying to encourage her to keep going without letting the queasy feeling that was threatening to take over his stomach show.

"I went after Nichols," Abby confirmed his fears. "He caught me."

"He caught you?" Nick repeated, inwardly reminding himself to get the whole story before saying something he may regret.

Abby nodded, drawing out her answer with another sip of wine. "I… he looked too much like Adam and I just had to…" she trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain it. After a pause, she seemed to regain her composure. "I thought if I could get a better look and see that it was all in my mind, I could leave it be." She shrugged uncomfortably. "I followed him from the _Skulls_ Club House to a shady strip club. I was just about to give up and go home when he appeared on the back seat. He held a knife to my throat and told me to keep away from him. But only after he'd gone through my purse and memorized my name and address."

The last part had come out so fast that Nick's brain needed a few seconds to process what Abby had said. Once the words registered, he couldn't help but come out with, "shit", before taking a deep breath. Then he asked more calmly than he felt, "did he hurt you?"

"No, he just scared the hell out of me." Abby's hand unconsciously touched her throat. When she realized what she'd done, she immediately put her hand down again, her eyes again searching his features. "I'm fine," she assured him.

"You don't sound fine," Nick stated matter-of-factly, all the while thinking what he would do if that bastard ever touched her again.

Abby shrugged, her hands fidgeting with the wine glass. Finally she said, "I know it was stupid. But the worst part is that I didn't even get what I was looking for."

"What do you mean?" he asked, the queasy feeling settling down in his stomach once more.

"I know technically, it's impossible, Adam would now be our age, Nichols looks way younger than that for one thing," Abby reasoned and the whole speech sounded to Nick as if she had been over this a dozen times at least. "Also, there's the missing accent not to mention the whole biker gang thing. But I have to admit, Nichols looks so much like Adam, it just freaks me out."

* * *

As predicted getting into the villa had been no problem. Methos had been able to easily avoid the cameras mounted along the wall of the property. With the blueprints memorized, he had quickly found the garden shed that housed the cables responsible for delivering the signal of the silent alarm to the outside world. He disabled them before making his way to the house where he went around to the back. Breaking in through the porch door was accomplished in less than a minute.

_Not much of a fortress now,_ Methos thought dryly as he proceeded through the spacious living room. Moonlight filtered through the floor to ceiling windows, some of it reflecting off the polished floor. In passing, he noticed a man with dark hair and a slender woman grinning happily from a framed picture on the sideboard. _Must be the wife Assaro mentioned,_ Methos mused as he climbed the stairs to the floor with the master bedroom. She was out of town until next week, Assaro had told him, but if she had chosen to stay over tonight, he was to use her to get the information out of the man. Methos just hoped she kept away and he wouldn't be faced with the decision of what to do to her.

As was to be expected at half past four in the morning, the house was completely quiet. The bedroom door creaked a little as he slowly swung it open, the sound breaking the silence, but not waking the sleeping form lying on the oversized bed. Freudinger just stirred briefly, leaving Methos free to lazily draw his sword and settle down in the old-fashioned but surely expensive armchair next to the nightstand. Methos balanced the rapier in his right hand and almost gently let it rest against the sleeping man's neck. He gave the sword a bit more leeway and switched on the lamp on the nightstand.

"Rise and shine," he sing-songed as Freudinger started and the blade drew blood on the man's neck.

Freudinger looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, clearly disoriented from having been woken up so suddenly. Then his eyes narrowed and despite his disadvantageous circumstances, he seemed to be sizing Methos up.

"Who are you," the man finally asked way more calmly than Methos had expected a banker in his position could be.

"The question is not who I am," Methos replied slowly, leaning slightly forward to put emphasis on his words, "but who I work for."

"Assaro sent you." A statement, not a question.

Methos gave the slightest nod in the affirmative. "I guess we can cut to the chase then," he drawled. "Where's the money."

A mirthless laugh escaped Freudinger's lips. "So that is what he told you."

"That is what you will tell me," Methos replied icily, the sword pressing against the man's neck.

Freudinger swallowed visibly while a drop of blood pooled at the blade's edge. "I don't have any money."

"For that you live rather well," Methos purposefully misinterpreted with a nod that encompassed the room as well as the rest of the villa.

"I don't have Assaro's money," Freudinger corrected himself, a pleading look creeping into his eyes.

"We'll see about that." With that, Methos implied the door with a flick of his sword. Freudinger did as he was told and lead the way into the hall and down the stairs. In the kitchen, Methos made him stand with his back to the column that was elegantly placed aside the counter dividing kitchen and dining area. It was just narrow enough in diameter that Freudinger's hands could be bound together with tie wrap behind his back, the column keeping him locked in place.

Methos lazily took a chair from the dining table and sat on it backwards, facing his victim with the sword freely swinging in front of him. With a calculated move, the blade cut the front of Freudinger's pajamas in two. The man let out a surprised yelp, even though his skin came away unscathed.

"Now," Methos started calmly, "about that money."

"I don't have any money!" Freudinger repeated, panicked eyes staring at the sword. "Why is your boss so sure I do?"

Shaking his head, Methos made a tsk-ing sound. "If you didn't we wouldn't be here. Simple as that." He lifted the sword and started making a shallow cut across Freudinger's exposed upper body. "So," he added, starting on a second cut and ignoring the banker's whimpering, "what's it gonna be?"

3


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thanks to all who reviewed and faved - I'm not the fastest writer out there but I have no intentions of abandoning this story. I just may need a little push from time to time ;)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Methos watched as the flames consumed the bloody bundle of clothes at his feet. He stood in a clearing, the city's lights barely visible at the horizon. In the opposite direction, dawn was creeping over the mountains. A sand-coloured path, barely wide enough for a car and way too bumpy a ride for anyone to just happen by cut through the barren landscape just to vanish into the woods shortly thereafter. At least Methos hoped the location was remote enough and far enough from the actual street so the fire he had set would not be seen until it had done its job properly.

_You killed an innocent man._

The flames started licking at the stolen car he had used to get to Freudinger's house. Torture and death had always been a nasty business, but these days, the clean-up was worse than ever, with fingerprints and DNA analysis always round the corner. For that reason, Methos had brought a second set of clothes and was now burning the ones he had worn. He had doused them and the car in petrol before lighting the match. Now he was staring at the flames consuming everything but his sword. The sword he would need to get rid of separately because its presence alone might give him away.

_You killed an innocent man._

Don should be here any minute to pick him up, then they could drive to the cliffs and get rid of the sword. The salt water would do the trick, if anyone ever found it, that is. Cleaning it was not an option. Too many cracks and crevices where blood could stick to and give the cops the evidence they needed to put him behind bars.

_You killed an innocent man._

The flames danced around the car, always changing their shape, mesmerizing, consuming…

_You killed an innocent man. _The voice in his head insisted, growing ever louder until Methos couldn't ignore it anymore.

_He may have been many things, but he was certainly not innocent, _he countered_._

_Oh but you know as well as I do that he didn't take any of Assaro's money, _the voice pointed out, clearly triumphant that it had gotten Methos to acknowledge it.

_So what?_ Methos spat back, _that's none of my business. My goal is to get close to Assaro and if this is the only way to do that, I'll take it._

The flames danced in front of Methos' eyes, forming the outlines of a face. As the voice challenged him, features began to emerge from the fire. Intense eyes stared out of a warrior's face. The flames even formed the long dark hair that was held together by a silver clip.

_And for what? To get revenge! _the voice threw at him.

_Yes, to get revenge. _Methos confirmed with a steely gaze._ The time for running away is past._

With that Methos turned from the apparition and walked to Don who had pulled up in an old Ford. One last look back confirmed that nothing of the getaway car or the clothes would be left to lead the police back to him.

"To the cliffs," Methos instructed.

Don raised an eyebrow in question but knew better than to argue. He put the car in gear and headed back towards the city.

* * *

Back at home, Methos headed straight for the shower. _The second set of clothes will need to go, too,_ he thought as he discarded the items at the foot of the bathtub. _Better safe than sorry._ He turned up the water and let it wash away the last remnants of the night's activities. He let the events play out once more in front of his mind's eye. As much as he hated to admit it, the familiar voice had had a point.

Freudinger clearly had no idea what he was being accused of. In a last-ditch attempt to satisfy his captor, the banker had even given up a bank account and signed off access to it to Assaro. But the slip of paper was worthless, it had been worthless before Freudinger had died. _As if Assaro could just walk into a bank and claim the money,_ Methos scoffed. And besides, his instructions had been clear: find out where the money is and get rid of Freudinger.

If the banker hadn't stolen any money, that begged the question what else he may have done to incur the Mafioso's wrath. _Must be something serious,_ Methos mused. At least serious to Assaro. He made a mental note to remember to follow up on this as he stepped out of the shower and dried off.

Methos had just put on his pants as a Quickening touched his senses. Grabbing his replacement sword, another rapier which looked very similar to the one he had just thrown into the ocean, he went towards the door, listening intently. A cry of "Open up, Jude," could soon be heard above the pounding and Methos opened the door to Taylor with a roll of his eyes.

"Do you always need to make such a fuss?" Methos asked indignantly as he shut the door behind his house guest. "It's not even nine o'clock!"

Taylor eyed the sword that was still in 'Jude's' hands warily. "I didn't want to run the risk of you using your sword first and asking questions later."

Methos leveled the younger immortal with a stare that could've frozen lava. He would be damned to let Taylor just waltz in like he owned the place. He was way too tired for games, so he got straight to the point. "What do you want, Taylor?" he asked in hopes of speeding things up though he could easily put two and two together.

"Assaro wants to know what you learned," Taylor immediately confirmed his suspicions. "And he wants to know _if it's done_." The pronunciation of the last words left no doubt of what Taylor was implying.

Anger boiled up in Methos at having been reminded that he was working for someone else. "That's none of your business," he hissed.

"Oh, but you see, it is the bosses business alright," Taylor reminded him with a smug smile, "and as such it is mine."

The younger man's calm demeanor only served to infuriate Methos even more. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I can tell you what the boss wants you to do."

Methos gave a short, mirthless laugh. "That you can do," he agreed, stepping closer to Taylor, making him aware that Methos was half a foot taller than him and holding a weapon at the ready to help make his point. "I am not going to be discussing this with the errand boy. I will tell Assaro myself tonight. You can arrange a meeting. Until then, I'm sure the papers will fill him in on the basics." Raising his sword threateningly, he added, "But now, you get the hell out of my apartment!"

At that, Taylor quickly made it to the door. Methos closed it behind him with a loud bang, leaning against it with his back. Setting the sword aside, he took a deep breath. He shouldn't have let his anger get the better of him. He should have kept a more level head, Methos admonished himself. But then again, Jude's anger management issues were legendary. Who cared if Taylor took the brunt of it this time?

* * *

Nick's morning had started nice enough: the water for his shower had been warm, which meant the landlord had finally gotten the boiler fixed, and his favourite song was on the radio. But his mood had been too dark for these things to really penetrate as his thoughts constantly returned to the conversation he had had with Abby the previous night.

He didn't even want to think about what that monster could've done to her beyond scare her senseless, which had obviously worked. Abby had always been such a self-confident and determined woman – it was part of the attraction she had on Nick – so seeing her doubting herself like this just broke his heart. That last part was probably largely due to the similarities between Nichols and her ex, Nick reasoned, though admittedly, the thought didn't really help.

No matter how unlikely, maybe it was time to do some digging. Maybe he could do what Abby's trip down memory lane hadn't been able to do: give her closure by proving the two men were separate people. He knew a lot about Nichols from his investigation, but Adam Pierson was an unknown as far as he was concerned at least.

"Hey Nick, we're here," his partner brought him out of his reverie, simultaneously snapping his fingers in front of Nick's face which made him realize that Charlie had probably tried to address him before but gotten no answer.

Charlie was already half way across the drive way which felt more like a courtyard, with the fountain in the middle and two sets of stairs curving toward a single entrance, when Nick shut the car door behind him. At least half a dozen other vehicles were parked haphazardly in front of the villa. They ranged from marked police cars over the forensic team's van to the coroner's station wagon.

Nick greeted the two policemen who were standing near the door having a smoke with a nod before following his partner into the villa which aside from being really spacious seemed rather normal to Nicks eyes. Way more normal than the driveway with the sweeping stairs had made him suspect at least. He followed a broad hallway towards the back. The scent of blood filled the air as he approached the kitchen and Nick braced himself.

The sight that presented itself was worse than he had imagined though. When the dispatcher had told them over the radio that it was a bloody and gruesome scene, she had definitely not exaggerated. The once white kitchen was all but drenched in crimson. There was red pooling on the floor right underneath the victim's lifeless body which was still bound to pillar standing to one side of a counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

_Jesu_s. The word shot through Nick's mind even before he consciously registered that there was a massive wound in the man's side. If the arms had been outstretched on a cross, it would've completed the picture. _The victim's hands must be tied so closely behind the pillar that he hadn't had room to slide down,_ Nick thought as he stood rooted in place.

Even the walls were streaked with blood. Nick's eyes narrowed as he looked at the patterns on the otherwise spotlessly white shiny tiles. "They can't be all directly from the cuts on the victim," he mused aloud, but making sure the nearest tech heard him.

"They're not," the man confirmed as he lowered the camera and turned to look at Nick. "The ones over there look like the something, presumably the weapon, was swung around in an arc and the blood that was already on it got thrown at the wall in the process."

"Why would someone do that?" another tech, a petite blonde woman asked. Nick noticed she was unnaturally pale and wore a look of disgust as she labeled an evidence bag with an enclosed q-tip, it's end shimmering red in the morning light coming through the window.

"Depends," Nick answered, "my guess would be to show off."

The girl's face paled another notch. She looked about to be sick when Nick pointed at the victim.

"Judging by all those cuts and bruises, he was tortured badly. So it stands to reason the killer wanted information that the victim wouldn't give up."

Nick took a step closer, carefully avoiding stepping into evidence, police routine taking over where the first impression had paralyzed him. Charlie and Keith Donachie, the coroner, were standing a few feet away right next to the body examining the wounds more closely as Nick joined them.

"What have you got," he asked even though he had a sinking feeling that there was not much to tell that he hadn't already seen.

"Can't tell you too much, yet," Donachie sighed. "So far, it looks like the weapon was something sharp and long, such as a kitchen knife, maybe even longer."

"A sword, for instance?" Nick suggested, his heart skipping a beat.

"A sword would do," the coroner confirmed. "But who in their right mind would be carrying one of those?"

Nick could think of one person in particular. One person who was not only carrying a sword around for show, but who had threatened the victim in the past. And who had come way, way too close to hurting Abby.

Charlie must have said something, but Nick wasn't listening. He simply turned and walked outside. He stopped by the car they come in – Charlie's car - just now realizing that he didn't have the keys. He could hear Charlie behind him, shouting his name.

"Hey Nick, everything okay?"

Nick didn't answer. Instead, he stared off into the distance, trying to figure out what to do next. His first instinct was to go find that bastard and take care of him once and for all.

"What the heck is going on?" Charlie demanded, grabbing Nick by both shoulders as if he were about to shake him.

But what could he do against a biker who clearly wasn't in his right mind - short of shooting him in the back? _That would be murder. No. Something else, there's gotta be another way. Of course there is. You're a cop, so deal with it like a cop. Get a grip. Start by telling your partner what you suspect!_

"Nichols, that's what's wrong!" The words came out louder and more agitated than intended. At least they made Charlie let go of him, looking slightly confused. The unspoken question of what was so damn special about that biker hanging between them.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: sorry it took so long to update - work has been unkind. I have a pretty good idea of where I want to go next, if only I can find the time to actually write it, it shouldn't be such a long wait until the next chapter comes.

**Thank you to everyone who has put this in their faves or on their alert list - I am really glad I'm not just writing this for myself ^^; Reviews make my day ;)  
**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"So we decided to go with Ms. Rayleigh for the birthing classes," Karla said between spoonfuls of scrambled eggs. Her eyes widened as she seemed to rethink her statement. "Or do you think I should've picked Lauren?"

Abby gave a noncommittal shrug. It was enough to keep Karla talking.

"I mean, Ms. Rayleigh certainly is the one with more experience, but she's always so stiff."

While Abby cleared her plate, Karla kept her monologue going. From her choice of midwife to the pattern on the soon-to-be baby's bed, from the last doctor's exam to the way Rob, her husband, was presumably more nervous about it all than her. Everything Karla had to say today seemed to be revolving around the little one.

Not that Abby couldn't understand that this was important for Karla, but the way the conversation had turned out thus far had nothing to do with her old friend and colleague Karla and any of the countless brunches they'd had together at the café. Abby had been looking forward to hearing how Karla's pregnancy had gotten along since she'd gone on maternity leave, to telling her about the latest office gossip and maybe even to getting her opinion about the whole Adam/Nichols business.

And now this. Hospitals, doctors, midwives, baby buggy, baby clothes, baby anything – choices, choices, choices for the young mother-to-be, choices that seemed to leave no room for office rumours or heartaches. Not even for the kind that had the explosive potential of a nuclear bomb.

Abby's ears seemed to reduce Karla's sermon to background noise, while her eyes were drawn to the screen at the far side of the café. The TV was tuned to some local station without sound, but with the latest news running through at the bottom of the screen. Abby found herself mesmerized by the blues and greens of the rain forest flickering by as a documentary ran its course. She kept making affirmative noises now and then, all the while wondering if this was how it would always be with Karla. Now that Karla's world revolved around that baby – a baby that wasn't even born yet - did they even have anything left to talk about any more, anything they could both relate to?

The documentary was suddenly interrupted by a solemn looking news anchorman. Behind him was an image of a big iron gate, through its bars, uniformed policemen could be seen watching the road outside. Scrolling at the bottom, now with a screaming red star in the lower left corner, the news ticker spelled: _"Breaking News: banker murdered brutally in his own kitchen"_

Abby could easily picture the scene the photo didn't show: reporters and a horde of curious onlookers, hoping to get a glimpse at whatever was going on behind the gates, standing in clusters on the on the opposite side of the street. The reporters would be keen on getting their story, pumping anyone arriving or leaving for information, while the onlookers would try to look half disinterested and appalled while lapping up every bit of news they could get their hands on.

Abby had always been sickened by the way accidents and tragedies drew in the vultures like moths to a flame. _No respect for someone else's loss,_ Abby thought bitterly as she watched footage of a female reporter wearing the reddest lipstick that had ever been invented thrusting her microphone in a woman's shell-shocked face. The subtitle identified her as the victim's wife, Caitlin F.

Abby noticed that even though the woman must have been horrified and her pale complexion and reddish eyes clearly spoke of a grave loss, she seemed self-confident and… angry. Or was the flash in the widow's eyes just a trick of the light? Abby couldn't be sure, but there was definitely something intriguing about the raven haired twenty-something.

Abby was just about to point her out to Karla, when the news ticker's message changed and her blood ran cold. _"Banker slain in his own kitchen – sources in the LAPD claim a sword was used – mafia ties suspected"_

* * *

Amanda hesitated, her finger hovering over the door bell of Abby's apartment. She needed to find out everything the other woman knew about the man calling himself Jude Nichols, that much was certain. But Amanda also knew that Abby wasn't going to just accept her sudden appearance without question.

She had debated randomly meeting her at the grocery store or at a café, but soon dismissed the thought. If anything, that would just make the younger woman more suspicious. Her being a reporter – a business where suspicion and tenacity were pretty much a given to get the job done – would make this a walk on raw eggs.

It couldn't be helped though, not if she was going to help the Old Man. So finally, Amanda pressed the bell with a sigh. Half truths and partial lies were as much part of her life as being a thief was in her blood, but there were moments - like the one coming up - where Amanda would've loved to be able to be honest for once.

As expected, Abby was taken aback to see her standing at her door. She blinked against the afternoon sun, then shielded her eyes and scrutinized Amanda with a suspicious look before recognition dawned and a smile reached Abby's eyes.

"Amanda! What brings you out here?" she exclaimed delightedly as she ushered the blonde inside.

"I was in the area, visiting a friend, and I thought I would stop by" Amanda started, already knowing she'd have to admit to more than that. "How have you been?" _Smalltalk first._

"Oh, I'm fine," Abby replied, gesturing for Amanda to take a seat in a cozy kitchen. "What about you? You look great!"

"I'm good. Been here and there, same old, you know." Amanda couldn't help but smile at the ease with which they fell back into old habits. Adam and Abby hadn't been together for long, but even after he'd disappeared, Abby had kept singing in the Blues Bar with the band. At that time, Amanda had made it a point to check in with Joe at least once a month, never telling Abby where she'd been, always evading her questions with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Abby giggled at that as she poured coffee into two enormous mugs. She set them down with a flourish and let herself sink into a chair opposite Amanda.

"So you're just stopping by, hm?"

_Here we go,_ Amanda thought as she took a sip of coffee, managing to give a slight shrug without spilling the hot liquid on her white linen trousers.

"This has nothing at all to do with my call to Joe, then, has it?" Abby's tone was light enough, but her eyes had that no-nonsense glare to them that Amanda remembered well.

"Well," Amanda said, as she carefully set the mug down and threw her hands up in a 'you got me'-gesture, "not exactly."

The glare intensified.

"Joe called me after he had talked to you. He was worried and I said I would check in on you. So here I am." Amanda conveniently left out the transatlantic flight that had been necessary for the visit, hoping the younger woman would simply assume she'd at least been in the US.

"Did I sound that bad?"

"No, I don't think you did. It's just…" Amanda sighed and hoped Joe wouldn't hear about what she was about to say. "Joe is showing his age these days. He seems a bit overprotective and is easily worried. He's a good friend and if me visiting you can put his mind at ease, then I'll do that."

Abby nodded thoughtfully. "It's been a hell of a past few days, though. So I'm not sure how much of his worry is due to him getting old." She sighed and buried her face in her mug.

"Don't tell him I said this," Amanda said conspiratorially, "but I suppose you asking about Adam has reminded him of when he lost two friends within a week and he still feels guilty about that. Hearing you may have seen Adam, well, I think that alone would have been enough for him fly over himself."

That got a grin out of Abby. Amanda could practically see Abby's vision of Joe getting onto the first plane from Paris to Los Angeles, as the Joe she knew would have done without thinking about it twice even if the outcome was questionable.

"His legs have been giving him trouble lately and he couldn't catch a flight if he wanted to." That part at least was the honest truth, a truth that made Amanda's heart ache for the old blues player.

It had the same effect on Abby, who stared into her coffee as if it held answers before asking, "What have the doctors told him?"

"To be honest, I don't know. He doesn't let on much, not on the phone and not when I visit him. You know how he is, it's like it's his burden to bear and his alone."

"Yeah, I can imagine." A reminiscent smile briefly crossed Abby's lips. After a pause, she continued, "So, none of you have heard of Adam for ten years?"

Amanda shook her head. "Not a word."

"I don't get it. I always thought it had something to do with me as much as Mac's death that he vanished – but why wouldn't he even contact you?"

_Because he's Methos. A former Horseman of the Apocalypse who may just now be riding again and we would just be in his way._ "I don't really know. But he's never been forthcoming either."

"I suppose you're right about that one," Abby agreed, clearly thinking of one incident or other that had proven that to her.

"Joe told me the Nichols story. What made you think it was him?"

"When I saw him at the station, it was my first though. The way he moved, perhaps," Abby shrugged as if looking back on it now, she had no clue. "Nick, my boyfriend, works for the police and knows Nichol's record. He filled me in on what they think he did. I should've just let it go then. But I didn't."

Then Abby told her the whole story about her botched attempt at subtle surveillance, the realization that the man in the rear view mirror looked even more like Adam than she would've thought possible and Nick's reaction to her "initiative". She ended with this morning's news of the tortured banker.

"So apparently, Freudinger was tied to the mafia and they decided to get rid of him. And not just that, he was tortured using a sharp knife or a sword." She threw her hands up in frustration. "Who on earth would use a sword?"

Amanda didn't answer. All she could think was, _this_ _is worse than I thought!_

"Adam showed me his collection, you know." Abby's voice was calm as she was staring pensively off into the distance, as if she could see the gleaming swords on display on her kitchen wall. "I also saw him sparing with Mac at the dojo once or twice, but never thought much of it."

"It's an eccentric hobby, I'll give you that," Amanda forced herself to smile the implications of what she'd just heard away. "I used to be into that sport, too, you know. So I can tell you it's nothing more sinister than doing karate or whatever is trendy this year."

"Did Mac bring you into it?"

"No," Amanda sighed deeply, "but his death made me want to get out of it."


	7. Chapter 7

**So sorry for the long absence! Writers block and too much work have kept me away. I'm afraid I can't even promise when I'll be able to update next, but rest assured I have no intention of abandoning this! **

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Charlie had been able to calm Nick's nerves somewhat. He had reminded him that one alleged sword - which could easily turn out to be just another sharp kitchen knife - didn't make a killer. But he had also understood Nick's need to get to the bottom of the Nichols issue, so they had divided their resources once they got back to the station. Charlie was going to follow up on Freudinger and his life, his wife and his business, trying to find out who else might want him dead, while Nick was to concentrate on Nichols.

He had done that for the past two hours not to much avail. Nichols' file didn't yield anything they had overlooked. There was the same - admittedly rather shitty - youth, with parents who thought a bit of rock 'n' roll would make their son the devil. _If they had known how close he'd be getting to that after all,_ Nick wondered, _would they have done anything differently?_ He shrugged. No use to ponder the what-ifs. The mother had been barely lucid after the father's unfortunate death, talking about how her son had not done anything wrong, it must have been the devil inside of him, compelling him to do evil. But that also meant that effectively, there were no witnesses to the alleged manslaughter and the case was dropped.

The boy's near miss with his own death when he came off the road with his motorcycle bordered on a miracle, but obviously couldn't keep Nichols on the right track. Not even Peter Gilmore, who Nichols was said to have been close to during his first years on his own, could help him. He turned up dead and so did many others that crossed Nichols' path. They couldn't prove it, but if only half of the allegations were true, his track record was horrifying. Joining the _Skulls_ hadn't changed anything for the better, of course.

Nick sighed and went back to what little he had been able to dig up on Adam Pierson. From the few pictures he had been able to find, a resemblance was there, yes, but the man was practically the opposite of Nichols. A researcher with no taste for violence whatsoever. The records showed nothing of what Abby had told him, though. No sign of purchased swords or a fascination with ancient weaponry, let alone the practice of sparring with someone be it with or without weapons. Not even a membership to a sports club. Nothing.

And no clue as to where the man had gone either. Nick didn't have time to brood over this though as a low whistle from the opposite side of the desk sounded.

"I got something," Charlie announced leaning back in his chair and fixing Nick with an expectant stare. "And you'll never guess what it is."

Nick just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't going to play the guessing game. Not with this case.

"Get this: the connection is the wife!" A triumphant grin spread across Charlie's face as he proceeded to explain. "Caitlyn Freudinger used to be one of Assaro's crew. Before she met and married Thomas Freudinger, she went by the name of Caitlyn Haydon and this is what our respectable Missus looked like."

Charlie turned his computer screen around so Nick could take a look. Even though the photograph was taken from some sort of surveillance camera there was no doubt about it. It was indeed Caitlyn Freudinger, all dressed in leather, black hair flowing down her back, sitting behind a guy who could only be Assaro on a motorcycle.

* * *

The warehouse was stifling hot. As Methos made his way through the crowd, he could feel his shirt starting to cling to him. He shoved his way past the other _Skulls_ members, keeping his distance to the clutter of people around the small arena that had been put up in the middle. The fights hadn't begun yet, but the air was thick with people placing bets and the distinctive smell of dogs. Soon, the coppery scent of blood would be thrown in the mix. He gave Don a curt nod as he made his way across the warehouse floor towards the back. Maybe he'd join him to bet on one of the dogs later on, but first things first.

Taylor was leaning against a pillar, set back from the crowd so he could easily scan them. When he saw _Jude_, he waved him over and lazily detached himself from the wall. As if to make up for the humiliation of being told he wasn't worth talking to earlier, he kept a defiant silence until they reached the bottom of a metal staircase at the far back.

"The boss is up there." Taylor took up position next to the stairs in what was probably supposed to be a menacing bodyguard stance. To Methos, it looked almost comical, seen as Taylor was not exactly Mr. Muscle Man – rather the opposite. Lean and fit, probably agile, but certainly no Arnold Schwarzenegger.

If looks could have killed, Methos would have been able to feel daggers going through his leather jacket any second now. Since that was not going to happen, Methos just grinned broadly at Taylor's seemingly forced restraint. It was glaringly obvious that the young immortal had in fact consulted the news and wouldn't dare challenge Methos, not without Assaro's sanction anyway.

A container resembling those shipping containers you see at the harbour, just the shiny metal version instead of the one with the cheap paint job, was situated at the top of the stairs. It housed what would usually be the overseer's office with a good view of the whole warehouse through its windows.

Assaro stood alone in the neon-lit office, looking down through one of them. His back was toward the open door and he wasn't moving a muscle as Methos rapped his knuckles at the doorframe and entered. Long seconds ticked by. Suddenly, Assaro turned around sharply, fixing him in a glare that left no doubt about his authority.

"I followed the news," he began acidly. "Just as you told Taylor I was supposed to."

"I don't answer to the likes of him," Methos shrugged.

"But you do answer to me," Assaro thundered before the other man could say anything else. "And if I send someone to ask you about your progress you will damn well tell them in my stead!"

_Jude_ looked down at the floor, murmuring an affirmative as the roar of the crowd from below indicated the start of the fights.

"Good. Now tell me what you learned." Assaro leaned against the desk, arms crossed across his chest. Waiting.

This was going to go down oh so well.

"He didn't know a thing." Methos let the statement hang in the air between them. What else was there to say?

"What makes you so sure?"

It was all Methos could do not to laugh and ask him if he had actually seen the news or just said he had to get him to back down. Jude couldn't afford to be snotty though, so he answered as confidently as he dared: "If he had known anything he would have talked."

Assaro merely nodded slowly. "I saw his wife on TV."

Methos looked a question at his boss. He briefly asked himself, why Assaro would point that out when he had been the one to tell him she would be out of town in the first place. The thought was quickly driven from his mind as Assaro continued.

"Did you threaten to take her out as well?"

"Yeah, no luck."

"Did he believe you?"

Methos just raised an eyebrow as if to say 'of course he believed me'.

Assaro turned toward the window, resuming his earlier position. Methos found it curious that after all the urgency on Assaro's part to get the banker dealt with as quickly as possible, he didn't seem to be bothered much by the meager outcome. _Jude_ had effectively nothing to show for his troubles – except of course a corpse that would likely serve as a very good example of what happened to someone who crossed Phillip Assaro – and yet, his boss had nothing more to say on the matter?

"So, what now?" Methos inquired.

Assaro merely gave the smallest of shrugs, almost imperceptible. "Now we wait," he said cryptically. A wave of his hand made it clear that the waiting would not be happening together in this room, so Methos left him to his observation of the warehouse.

* * *

Taylor didn't much like being left at the foot of the stairs, but then again, he knew full well what was going on up there, no need to witness it in person. The thought of Jude getting put into place by Assaro made him smile. Not to mention the part that was yet to come.

The staircase clattered behind him as Jude was making his way back down. Taylor stepped aside just enough to let him pass. He watched the other immortal until he was swallowed by the crowd. Then he made his way up the stairs.

Assaro was watching the dog fight pensively from the window. Without turning, he asked: "Do you think he'll make it?"

Taylor shrugged. "We'll see. For my taste, he's got way too much of a temper." _No loss if he doesn't._

"Maybe," the boss conceded. "But if he survives the next few days, we may have caught two birds with one stone."

Taylor didn't reply to that. While Assaro usually kept a few younger immortals around, Taylor had never felt so uneasy at the thought of taking in another one as he did this time. He found himself hoping the woman would live up to her reputation and get rid of Jude Nichols once and for all.

* * *

A black BMW pulled up in front of the warehouse, it's polished surface reflecting the street lamp's light and looking thoroughly out of place. But its occupant wasn't concerned with blending in. A slender hand made a grab for a sword lying on the passenger's seat, the blade catching the light in imitation of the car's finish.

She drew a deep breath before getting out into the warm summer night. This was it, Assaro had taken it one step too far. For the better part of thirty years he had been her mentor, her lover in the end. But when she had chosen to leave him, Assaro would not or could not accept it.

At first, when she had started dating that – in his eyes – boring banker, he had pretended it was just a fling, a passing romance, at most an affair, but surely it had to be temporary. She wanted to get away from this life of stealing and cunning and violence, not to mention the backstabbing and sleeping with one eye open. If it meant leaving him because he would not change his ways for anything – or anyone – then she knew that that was what she had to do.

Caitlin had truly thought he had accepted it and that the phone calls would stop eventually when he realized it was futile. Even the accusations made toward her husband of mafia connections and money laundering she had explained away. She had tried to keep still, let the storm pass, even after the goat's head was found on their doorstep.

And now he was dead. Killed by one of Assaro's men undoubtedly – she had never seen him do his dirty work himself. _I should have known better_, she thought bitterly as he stared at the warehouse door and listened to the muted racket coming from within.

In the house, catching a glimpse of the bloodied kitchen and realizing what must have happened; talking to the policemen and finding out that they believed now more than ever in those obscure mafia ties; giving her statement to the press, all the while thinking of revenge – it had all seemed so clear then: first Assaro, then the rest of his immortal gang would die. Or the other way around, she didn't care. One of them would be to blame for Tom's death and the rest would be to blame for something else, so good riddance.

Now that she was here, for the first time she hesitated. She could hardly just waltz into a warehouse full of bikers, with an unknown quantity of immortals thrown into the mix. But she couldn't, no _wouldn't_, just tuck her tail and run. _I've been trying to ignore this way too long, and now look where it has got me to._

She was too far from the entrance for her Quickening to reach the people inside, so far so good. Maybe if she could lure them out somehow? If she could get the immortals one by one she could pull this off.

While she was still pondering her options, the door opened and a figure clad in biker attire stepped through. She watched him walk toward the small ally at the side of the warehouse, probably looking for a place to take a leak. He stepped into the shadows. _Let's see if that is my chance already_, Caitlin thought as she made to follow him.

4


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** This was a fast update this time & a long one, too – you can thank the cold weather that won't let me read on the way to and from work that gave me time to plot and a nasty stomach bug that gave me time to write. I'm afraid the next chapter won't be as quick, but then again you never know.

Thank you for all your fav and alert additions and of course for the reviews! They make my day each time I see one (and they may have had something to do with the quick update as well).

Special thanks to FanLass & Voldy's Pink Teddy for being so faithful – don't worry, Methos is still Methos and he can't help but be careful no matter who he's currently playing ;) And another special thanks goes to FerretKid, I think I blushed when I read your review.

* * *

**Chapter 8  
**

_**Then**_

"Adam, so nice of you to finally join us," Joe greeted him as Methos took a seat at the bar. Abby had been nervous tonight, with the band playing the new songs she had suggested. She was always such a perfectionist and nothing Joe could say or do could calm her down until she stepped on stage. Adam's embrace, Joe was sure, could have, even though they had only been dating for a couple of months.

Methos had to shout to be heard over the band, not that Joe had needed to actually hear his order. The Old Man who was ever so cautious not to fall into routines always drank beer when he could get it. Joe obliged with a grin before nodding toward the stage: "They started over an hour ago. Where were you?"

"I had to take a detour." Methos replied before downing half the bottle in one gulp.

"I thought you were at Mac's? Speaking of him, where is he?" Duncan had also promised to be here tonight. Joe's stomach tightened to a knot. There usually was one reason and one reason only for the Highlander to be late.

"We were," Methos confirmed but didn't elaborate. Joe followed his gaze to Abby who had the audience firmly in her grasp. Her voice filled the bar, managing to unclench his stomach a little. Not enough to just drop the subject though.

"What happened?" Joe asked, gesturing for Methos to follow him into his office at the back, so they couldn't be overheard.

"We were at Mac's barge," Methos began after having shut out the noise behind them. "And that gipsy showed up."

"Which one?"

"One of the younger ones, Denis. He challenged Duncan and they went to find a more private setting. So I went to find a cab to come here, but I felt another immortal following me, so I had to take some detours, as I already said."

"You just left?" Joe asked incredulously.

"What would you have me do? Stand at the sidelines to hand him a towel when he was done?"

"You could've at least gone with them to watch." The moment the words left his lips, Joe knew he had sounded like a mother hen.

"Oh that is not _my_ job," Methos threw his hands up. "I'm sure Mike will tell you all about it when he gets back."

Joe glared at the old man. Of course Mike, Duncan's current Watcher, would report back, but that wasn't the point. He still had a knot in his stomach, even though his mind knew full well that Denis wasn't a threat to Duncan. If it had been the elder gipsy, things would have been different. Maybe. But Felipe wasn't a match for McLeod either, so why was he so worried?

With the realization of what could have gone down, Joe's face drained of all colour.

"What if Denis had backup and McLeod did not?"

* * *

_**Now**_

When Caitlyn stepped around the corner, sword in hand. Her earlier guess proved to be right. The biker was standing inside the alley with his back towards her. When he heard her steps, he hurriedly packed his johnson back where it belonged and turned to face her. The sight of the sword glinting in what little light from the street lamp was left elicited a gasp of: "Not another one!"

_Another one?_ Caitlyn thought, unsure of what she was supposed to take from that reaction.

"What do you mean?" she asked stepping closer while holding her sword in front of her. The biker was much broader and taller than her and if it weren't for her sword, she wouldn't stand a chance in a fight.

"The sword, I meant the sword!" he stammered, holding his hands out in a non-threatening gesture.

_Since when would Assaro be so careless as to let the pawns know about __the swords? _Caitlyn thought perplexed. "So there's another person here carrying a sword?"

"Yes, a guy, " he confirmed, his eyes glued to the steel.

_One of us who wears his weapon of choice openly. Add that to the fact that Thomas was killed with a sword and I'm about to learn what I came to find out._ Anger flared in Caitlyn at the revelation. She would see to it that this guy would soon be dead. Permanently. And then she'd deal with Assaro. What on earth was he even thinking to let someone use a sword in public? Hazarding the consequences of someone taking a closer look at Mr. Swordplay… now _that_ was a new low, even for Assaro.

"Who is that guy? And where can I find him?" she demanded, taking another step forward and using her sword to make it clear that she wouldn't take anything but a name and address for an answer.

"His name is Jude Nichols, he's inside the warehouse," came the hasty reply. His eyes pleading with her not to use the blade on him. Then the man's eyes widened in recognition.

"Cat? Is it you?"

When he got no immediate answer, he continued, more relaxed now, "What are you doing here? I thought you'd left?"

_Damn_, Caitlyn thought as she finally caught up with his babbling. The biker was Don who had been with the Skulls for years. He'd been there already before Caitlyn left. _He'll go straight to Assaro and tell him I'm after one of his men! And Assaro in turn will know he's next. _She needed to make her move now.

"I have left," she confirmed. "But there's something I need. And you are going to help me get it."

insertbarhere

"Jude, can you come outside for a minute? I need to show you something" Don's voice sounded a bit strained over the phone.

"What is it?" Methos asked impatiently stepping further away from the racket the dogs in the ring and the men surrounding them were causing.

"I can't tell you on the phone. You need to see this for yourself." Now Don's voice was positively shaking.

_Something isn't right here._ "Come on, give me at least a hint." _Last try._

"Nah, you _really_ need to see this for yourself."

Methos could hear the panic oozing from the phone, so he decided to stop prodding and do as he was asked.

"Give me a minute."

Methos ended the call and looked around suspiciously. None of the other men had taken any notice of him moving towards the entrance when he took the call. He couldn't be sure about Assaro in his office way above the rest, but then he doubted anyone would care anyway.

insertbarhere

When she felt him approach, Caitlyn positioned herself so that she was partly obscured by Don's bulky figure while making sure Jude would be able to see that she was threatening his buddy's life. And not a second too soon, as the guy showing up at the entrance to the alley held a gun in his right hand. In his left, his sword was gleaming as hers had before.

"Don, really?" Nichols asked exasperatedly as a mother might ask her child if it had been really necessary to get into this kind of trouble. "You let yourself be taken hostage?"

"He didn't _let_ me do anything," Caitlyn threw back before Don could answer.

"He didn't?" Nichols feigned surprise.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. Didn't that guy even want to know why? He was standing there as if he didn't have a care in the whole world. But then, he _was_ the one with the gun. _Great idea, coming here, Caitlyn, really great, _she berated herself.

"I'm here to get revenge for my husband," she said in an attempt to speed things up. She could feel Don tense up in front of her. He'd never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she had thought her motive was rather obvious. _Guess not._

"Oh _that's_ why you're here," Nichols drawled, managing to sound almost bored. With a cruel smile he added, "You're welcome to try."

Suddenly, she heard a shot and Don broke down howling in pain, depriving her of her cover. Before she could react, a second shot was fired and she felt burning pain shooting through her for a split second before darkness took her.

* * *

"What the hell!" Don howled accusingly, holding his leg. Blood was already seeping out from between his fingers.

"You'll live." Methos stated as he stepped over Don to relieve the woman of her weapon. His mind was working furiously. If she was here to kill him for what he did to Freudinger – and who else could she have been talking about? – this offered a whole new perspective. Question was just: which one? How could this woman with the expensive clothes possibly fit into Assaro's game?

"Did you need to shoot me though?" Don whined.

"Did you need to let yourself be taken hostage?" Methos shot back automatically.

Don turned his attention back to his leg. He hadn't really looked at the woman's body at all, Methos realized. Usually, Don would never even flinch at the carnage he'd seen him cause so far, but a woman shot in the chest would make him look away? _He knows her._

"Who is she?"

Don stirred uncomfortable. "Her name's Caitlyn. She used to be one of us."

"Used to be?" Methos enquired.

"She was Assaro's girl, but she left him a few years ago," Don explained, a tinge of sadness in his voice as he glanced toward the body. "I guess he wouldn't just let her go."

"Guess not," Methos conceded more calmly than he felt. _Now it all falls into place, _Methos thought wryly. _That asshole could've told me that this whole thing was for revenge. _And that his actual opponent wasn't Freudinger and his (un)willingness to talk about something he had no clue of, but his wife, an immortal nonetheless.

Unless this was the plan.

Kill her or be killed.

_Intriguing._

But he had a more pressing problem than figuring out just what was going on at the moment. Caitlyn wouldn't stay dead much longer and Don was in no condition to walk. It wouldn't do to let him see the woman revive. Or to let him witness a Quickening.

Methos went over to the body and searched her pockets. When he had found her keys he went to the entrance of the alley and used the automatic lock to identify the car. Not that the BMW didn't stand out all on its own already.

"What are you doing?" Don wanted to know as Methos quickly grabbed Caitlyn and carried her out of the alley.

"I'll be right back," Methos replied without glancing back. He quickly put Caitlyn in the trunk, shoving her sword in after her. Then he reached into his boot and produced a dagger that he deftly plunged into her heart.

* * *

As Amanda took the stairs up to Jude Nichols apartment, she knew that the immortal wasn't home. _Or maybe he isn't immortal and it's just a weird coincidence,_ Amanda thought, dismissing the idea on the spot.

After she'd left Abby, Amanda had gone back to her hotel room to do some digital digging. The police files – complete with picture – spoke volumes and left no room for doubt: Nichols was Methos and what Nick had told Abby had only been the tip of the ice berg.

After what had happened to Mac and the aftermath of that, Amanda had not been too surprised when Methos had just vanished right after the funeral.

_**Then**_

Amanda turned her head towards the door as she felt another immortal approach. She relaxed and nodded in greeting when she saw the slouching figure of Methos enter the empty bar. Joe must have heard the door, because he shouted "we're closed" without turning around.

"Hey Joe," Methos greeted him cautiously, pulling up a chair at the table the other two were sitting at.

"You," Joe glowered, refusing to look anywhere but into his glass of whiskey.

"Joe," Amanda soothed as she lay a hand on his, "you know as well as I do that it's not his fault." She had stopped counting how often she'd said that in the past few days, but it had been a lot. She'd tried reason and anger and the McLeod-would-not-have-wanted-you-to-fight-like-this card. All to no avail.

"Oh yes, it is," Joe insisted bitterly. When he looked up at Methos, Amanda could see he meant it. "If you'd just stayed with him, he'd still be here. It's that simple."

"It's not," Methos replied calmly. "You know it never is. But if that's what you want to believe. Fine. So be it." He paused and let Joe stare him down for a few long seconds, before he got up slowly, obviously fighting to keep his composure. "I just came to tell you both that I'm leaving town after the funeral."

That had been the wrong thing to say to Joe who stood abruptly, supporting himself with his hands on the table. "So you're running again!" he shouted, his face flushed with anger and alcohol.

Amanda tried to make him sit back down, but Joe shook off her hand so vigorously that he almost lost his balance.

"I'm not running," Methos clarified hotly. "I need some time to think."

"Thinking, that's all you do," Joe snorted. "If it had been you who was killed, at the very least Mac would have gone to get revenge."

"And he wouldn't have cared if he himself got killed in the process," Methos spat back. "That boy scout's honor is exactly what put him in this position in the first place."

Joe bristled at that, but Methos wasn't finished.

"If he hadn't wanted to help those immortal gipsy novices, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But instead of letting them deal with their own problems he had to make an enemy of their boss, who – oh what a surprise – doesn't like it when someone gives his flunkies ideas about how they don't need him after all."

"So you're saying he should've just left them be?" Joe asked rhetorically, his voice shaking with anger. Amanda had the feeling if Joe had had command of his legs, he would no longer be standing behind the table. He looked as though he was ready to tear Methos apart with his bare hands.

"I'm saying that if he'd stopped to think before rushing into this, he might have been able to see the ruse coming. But it always has been beyond Mac to be able to see that others are not bound by his code and will stop at nothing. And if they have to sacrifice a pawn, they will."

"And you know all about that, Methos, don't you?"

Methos took a calming breath before he said, "yes, I do."

And with that, he was gone.

_**Now**_

Amanda had assumed Methos would come back soon enough. That once he had done what he set out to do – clear his head – and the waves had settled down, he'd send word at least. But he didn't come back. Not for Joe, not for her nor anyone else. He had just left everything behind, including Abby who had been shaken by his abrupt exit, that so didn't fit in with the Adam Pierson she knew.

Joe had tried to find him, but as always when Methos didn't want to be found, he couldn't be found. They had been reasonably sure that Methos wasn't dead. Not only would that have been hard to imagine because 5000 years was a very long time to survive and Mac's death surely hadn't been the only upsetting incident during Methos' long life. But also, Joe was sure that if someone were to take the Old Man's head, the Quickening would be one to be remembered, one that would leave its marks beyond the small circle of people who knew about immortals.

With a sigh, Amanda opened the apartment door. Getting through the lock had been no challenge whatsoever. When she hit the light switch, Amanda could easily see why: there was nothing in here that would have required a good one.

Contrary to what Amanda had previously seen of Methos' living quarters, the room was ordinary and bland. There were no fancy swords on display, no rows of books, no special edition cds and no modern sculptures. Some worn clothes were thrown over the back of the sofa, but other than that, it was hard to see signs of anyone living here. The kitchenette looked untouched, there wasn't even a bottle of water out in the open.

She moved to the back of the room, where two doors led to what had to be the bedroom and the bathroom. A cursory glance at the bathroom revealed the presence of a toothbrush and a search of the cabinet above the sink turned up some aspirin and a first aid kit. Nothing unusual there either.

_Well, what was I expecting?_ Amanda asked herself as she turned toward the bedroom. When she reached for the door handle, she felt the Buzz of another immortal.

6


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: It was a long wait, I know, I'm sorry – especially since even after this being hanging in there for so long, I was still getting faves and alerts and reviews ^^ Thank you so much for those, each notification e-mail makes my day :D**

Btw, if you wanna know what I do when I'm not writing (which is admittedly often), you can check out my dA account, I go by the name of kuschelirmel there as well .com (photomanips & photography, plus a stock account with tutorials and such)

**Chapter 9**

Methos was driving Caitlyn's BMW while Don rode along in silence, his already pale complexion had completely drained of colour. The gunshot wound may not have been life-threatening, but he was bleeding badly enough to send his system into shock. Methos had to get him some treatment besides the makeshift bandage – his own shirt – that he had wrapped around the other man's leg before he lost too much blood. And then he needed to find a place to stash Caitlyn until he could figure out what to do with her. _I should just take her head and present it to Assaro. That should get me close enough to the bastard to find out how many of these young idiots he has running – and murdering – for him._

"You're going the wrong way," Don's voice interrupted Methos' thoughts.

"I'm not," Methos replied. "We're not going to visit the Doc." The Doc was the kind of doctor that would not fill out forms or alert the authorities because of a gunshot wound. The club even paid him well enough for him to do house calls – mostly at his own house as long as the bikers didn't create a fuss – at all hours.

"Why?" Don asked incredulously.

"Because he'll tell the club."

"So? Let him! Who cares as long as he doesn't tell the police?"

"Because I don't want them to know unless _I_ tell them. Simple, isn't it?" Methos answered. "Look, I'll patch you up myself and then I'll go take care of my little problem." He jerked a thumb towards the boot where the seemingly dead Caitlyn lay.

"If you say so," Don shrugged, clearly not getting where Methos was going with this. "Even so, since when are you a doctor?"

_Since before you were even born,_ Methos thought grimly. "I've patched up enough people to know what I'm doing, but if you prefer, I can let you bleed out just as well."

That settled the matter.

* * *

Amanda drew her sword as soon as she felt the immortal approach. Turning the lights off, she flattened herself against the wall beside the door. As much as she would have liked to make herself believe that the guy coming in any minute would be "her" Methos, she knew chances of that were slim to none. For one it could well be someone else entirely, but she didn't think so. This _was_ Jude Nichols' apartment after all. No, it would be Methos alright. It just wouldn't be the man she remembered.

And with that in mind, she couldn't be sure she wouldn't have to fear for her head either. _Cos let's face it, even in his peaceful Adam Pierson days he could have bested me without me realizing what hit me,_ she thought, _even without resorting to nasty tricks_. She didn't even want to know what he could do now, now that he was in training so to speak.

Amanda heard a floorboard in the hallway creak before the door was slowly eased open. A sliver of light cut through the apartment's darkness, growing larger, before it was blocked by a shadow.

"There's no need to hide," a cold voice threatened, "I'll find you anyway and then you'll meet the same fate as that bitch you lot sent after me. Nothing like two lightshows in one night." With that the man stepped into the room, blocking her advance easily.

Amanda didn't have time to ponder his words as steel rang on steel. To get more room to maneuver, she scrambled away from the wall, only to find herself facing another disadvantage. The light was at his back, making her squint to see. And still the blows kept on coming. Taking another step back she felt the couch press into her legs.

"Stop," she cried, "it's me, Amanda!"

Another blow delivered from above sent her falling onto the couch and she felt her sword knocked from her grip. _Here's to hoping it's Methos,_ she thought, panic welling up inside her as cold steel was pressed against her throat.

"Stay put," he growled as he picked up her weapon and switched on the light. He took a chair opposite her, his sword never leaving her neck.

The man's face went from hostile to surprised and back to hostile so fast that Amanda couldn't be sure she'd actually seen the transformation at all. What she could be sure of though, was that while the biker in front of her could be no other than Methos, there was no denying he had changed a lot since he'd walked out of Joe's bar all those years ago.

His careless, teasing smile was gone and had left nothing but suspicion behind. Methos' hair was longer, his face unshaven for days and he looked tired. He wore a biker kutte, but no shirt underneath, revealing an array of tattoos. Amanda couldn't help but stare at the one on his chest. It was a black and grey depiction of four horsemen, long coats billowing behind them, their hoods drawn low so none of the faces could be seen. They were thundering towards her in a cloud of dust and debris and the rider in front was seated on a pale horse.

"Amanda," Methos stated matter-of-factly. "What are you doing here?"

Amanda tore her eyes away from the tattoo with some effort. She looked at him incredulously, at a loss what to say. He just stared back, waiting for her answer.

"I could ask you the same," she replied as the shock wore off and her brain kicked back in. "I see you got yourself a new crew."

Methos just shrugged. "What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Take that sword out of my face and I'll tell you," she answered, trying to sit up straight. She wasn't going to let him see that he scared her.

He put the sword tip down on the ground and leaned on the hilt. "Now, what are you doing here?" he repeated for the third time. "And don't make me ask you again."

"Alright," she replied throwing her hands up defiantly. "Joe is worried, Methos."

His voice was flat when he replied: "He didn't seem to mind much last time we met. As I recall he thought I should've died instead of Mac."

"He was grieving. It's not like he was used to losing friends that should have outlived him." Amanda saw he wanted to say something then, but he let it go. Instead she continued. "He was out of his mind with worry when we didn't hear from you!"

Methos shrugged, "I've been busy."

"Too busy to tell us you're still alive?"

"I didn't think you'd care." Again, a statement delivered without emotion. "And besides, it's none of your business what I do. Which brings me nicely back to the question of what _you_ are doing here. How did you find me anyway?"

"Abby. She saw you at the police station. She thought she'd seen a freaking ghost, Methos! She called Joe to ask if you had shown up in Paris."

"And then Joe started digging," Methos filled in the gap. "And he sent you to check if it was really me."

"And a good thing he did. You scared the shit out of Abby! What on earth were you thinking? Threatening her like that?"

"I was trying to scare her off, seems it worked. That's certainly better than dragging her into this," he reasoned.

His lack of an emotional response was beginning to scare her more than anything she'd found out so far. "The hell it worked," Amanda replied. "You know why she was at the station?"

Methos shook his head no, "I don't see what it should matter."

"Oh believe me, it does matter," Amanda told him. "She was there to see her boyfriend, I'd say you know him pretty well. His name's Nick Cole and now he's got one more reason to go after you."

"So?" was all he said, frustrating Amanda to no end.

"So? Is that all you've got to say?"

"Yes, I've got more pressing problems than a cop who's got it in for me cos I may have scared his girlfriend. "

"Oh please do share," Amanda replied sarcastically. She for one couldn't imagine how this situation could be any worse. Then she recalled the dead banker and Abby's suspicions and immediately regretted her choice of words. _I should know better by now, it can always be worse,_ she thought bitterly.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Methos just replied, "for example the wounded guy waiting in the elevator two flights down."

"What?" she burst out, "are you out of your mind? What happened?"

Methos got up, sheathed his sword and said, "I shot him and now I'm patching him up. And you're going to help, now that you're here." And with that he was out the door, leaving a puzzled Amanda behind.

* * *

Methos was cursing under his breath as he took the stairs down to where Don was waiting in the elevator, blocking its door so it wouldn't move. Amanda would not just leave on her own without finishing their conversation. That just wasn't in her nature. But he knew she would play along in front of Don, because blowing his cover wasn't in her nature either, no matter what she might currently think of him. Which, judging by the way she'd eyed his tattoo could only be the worst.

"We can go up now," Methos stated as he squeezed in beside Don and pressed the button for 5th floor, deciding that his musings would have to wait until he could give Amanda the slip.

"What was wrong?" Don asked.

"I thought I'd heard something," Methos answered cryptically as he helped him from the elevator to the door, "and I was right. Don, meet Amanda," he added as they entered the apartment.

Amanda didn't miss a beat as she offered Don her hand, saying "pleased to meet you," as if they'd just met at a party instead of in a shabby apartment in the middle of the night with Don's leg bleeding through the makeshift bandage and her dressed up all in black like the thief she was. Methos bit back a smile at Don's stunned expression as Amanda led him to the couch. The urge to smile vanished as quickly as it had come when the other immortal gingerly removed the bloody shirt.

"What happened?" Amanda demanded to know testily.

"I told you," Methos replied from the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet for bandages and towels. Filling a bucket with water, he added, "I shot him, now I patch him up."

Amanda shot him a look that said she wasn't going to accept this answer for long. But as he'd expected she didn't pry any further. Instead, she made room to let him clean the wound.

"You got lucky," he told Don, "the bullet went right through the flesh, nothing important was hit either."

Don grunted in reply, slightly rolling his eyes. If that was from the pain, or to say 'not thanks to you', Methos couldn't tell. When the wound was cleaned and disinfected, he said, "He needs stitches. Amanda, can you look in the bedroom closet? There are needles and thread in there." Pushing the disinfectant over he added, "we'll need to clean the stuff before we use it, but then he should be fine."

Amanda nodded and went into the bedroom. Quickly, Methos took a shirt from the coat rack next to the door and slipped out before they could stop him.

* * *

Caitlyn woke with a start, drawing air deep into her lungs._ I died,_ she thought dizzily, but she couldn't remember how. The room she was in was light, all the wood - not just the furniture, but also the ceiling and part of the walls were made of wood, polished and glazed - made it feel cozy. She sat up on the bed with its sky blue sheets smelling of washing agent to get a look at the world outside the large window. That was when she realized she was sensing a Quickening. She quickly checked the room, but of course, her sword was nowhere to be found and the door was locked. _A prison._ Panic welled up inside her.

She let herself fall onto the bed, drawing deep breaths to ease her confusion. Slowly, her memory of the night before returned. _He shot me,_ she remembered, _why am I still alive? _Nichols hadn't left the impression he'd be the type to spare anyone. And yet she was here. In this strangely soothing room. _If it wasn't for the chains, this could be a bedroom in a vacation cabin or something._ Judging by the light coming into the room, it had to be morning. But which morning? How long had she been dead for? And what place was this?

"I see you're back."

The voice jolted her out of her reverie. The guy it belonged to was standing in the door, holding a breakfast tray. The smell of coffee wafted over to her as he set it down on a low table between the two of them, just within her reach.

"I brought you something to eat," Nichols said as he sat down opposite her in a big upholstered chair, his appearance clashing with the comfy cosy setting. And yet, he didn't look all that much out of place as he leaned back, waiting. _He looks perfectly at ease, _she thought, the hairs on her back rising.

"Why am I here?" she asked warily, her back leaning against the wall. _I need to get out of here._ Nichols was blocking the way though. _The only chance I have is if he's distracted, I could never take him one on one,_ she decided.

"Because I wanted to talk to you," he said simply. He took one of the two coffee cups from the tray and looked at her expectantly over its rim.

"So you shoot me and then you bring me here?" Caitlyn replied. "You say you just want to talk, and I should believe you?"

"Hey, you were the one out for my head," he reminded her, "besides, if I wanted you dead, you would be."

"And you were the one who killed my husband," she retorted, anger rising within her, making her scoot forward to sit on the edge of the mattress.

"Touché," he acknowledged, unmoving.

_How can he sit there, calmly sipping coffee and admit to murder this casually? _She had expected him to deny it or at least to start sanctifying himself, blaming it all on Assaro who undoubtedly was the one that gave the order in the first place. When she realized he wasn't going to say anything else without a prompt, she said, "and I'm just supposed to forget about that, or what?"

"No," he fixed her with an intense look, probably to gauge her reaction, "but maybe you can put it aside for a while."

"And why would I do that?" she replied, hoping her curiosity wasn't showing. _This is surreal, _she thought, eyeing the breakfast tray. The food made her mouth water. _Focus, Cat!_ "After all you tortured Thomas to death." With that came a flood of images that nearly took her breath away and the food didn't look that appetizing anymore.

"I think we have a common enemy, you and I," he replied calmly, "Assaro needs to go, permanently."

4


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews / faves /alerts – you are the best! Special thank you to Fanlass, Voldy's pink teddy & FerretKid for being so faithful.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

With a frustrated sigh, Amanda shut Methos' laptop. It was locked so tightly, not even her own not inconsiderable hacking skills helped. She was still in his apartment, with Don passed out on the couch, much to her dismay. _How could I just let him slip out like that?_ she asked herself for the hundredth time. And for the hundredth time she gave herself the same answer: _because I thought he wouldn't bail until Don's leg was fixed up._ Instead, he had left in the middle, fully knowing that she would finish up instead of chasing after him.

Methos had always been a calculating man, whose intentions usually were left in the dark until he deemed it to be the right time to tell you. Sometimes, he'd been willing to go through with things to get his way that she personally wouldn't have dared even to consider - the whole mess in Marseille with the horsemen came to mind. But even then, he'd tried to warn Mac so he could stop the release of the virus into the well. He'd had no choice but to play along then, no matter what the Highlander had thought of it at the time. Amanda got that. Here though, she couldn't find any sign that this was a means to an end. Clearly, he had his own agenda, as usual. But who was to say what it was? He'd been so indifferent and cold, it was hard to believe they'd been friends not all that long ago.

The story she had managed to get from an admittedly not quite lucid Don only confirmed that she didn't know a thing about Methos' new life as Jude Nichols. Don had told her - in between drifting off into a feverish sleep and guzzling down whiskey - that apparently, a woman had shown up and threatened to take out Don unless Nichols gave himself up.

Somehow, Don knew the woman, he had called her Cat and looked like her death had saddened him. He obviously didn't know about immortals and he was stammering something about too many swords for his taste and who besides Jude would carry one of those anyway. Needless to say Methos hadn't given himself up and he hadn't chosen to fight Cat one on one, either. Instead, Jude had brought a gun to a swordfight and shot Don in the leg to throw the woman off balance and then he'd shot her without blinking. It didn't sound like Methos had known her at all. And yet, chances were she was now dead for good.

Granted, Don couldn't remember seeing lightning, but judging by his state, he might have passed out from the shock of losing so much blood. And now that she thought about it, she clearly remembered Methos' threats when he came into the apartment. "Nothing like two light shows in a day", he had said. She shuddered despite the sticky warmth in the room.

After she'd patched Don up, she'd resumed her search of the bedroom, turning up nothing but the laptop and a second sword. She left the weapon underneath the bed - Methos had left her sword behind so she had no need for another - and went to work on the laptop. In the meantime, Amanda had exchanged her tight long sleeved black shirt for one of Methos' t-shirts, a wide, comfy one with a skull on the front. At least this way she wasn't finding it hard to breath any more in the stifling hotness of the apartment. Dawn had come and still she was trying to break into the laptop unsuccessfully.

She was just debating whether she could leave Don on his own, when she heard a knock on the door.

"Police, open up!"

_Damn. _She looked at Don's sleeping form on the couch and quickly threw a blanket over his legs. _At least this way they won't see the bandage._ Then she realized that from the door, they had a good view through the open bathroom door where the bloody towels were hanging over the sink. Closing it, she shouted, "just one second."

Then she took a deep breath and opened the door. Blocking the entrance with her body she smiled pleasantly, "good morning, officers, what can I do for you?"

"I'm Detective Cole, and this is Detective Sullins," the taller of the two introduced them. _So you are Abby's boyfriend,_ she thought, but she didn't flinch.

"We're here to speak to Marcus Nichols," Nick's colleague, Sullins told her, trying to look inside the apartment.

"He's not here," Amanda said airily, opening the door a little more to let him take a peek. "It's just me and Don. Jude said we could use his apartment." Lying came easy - it always did.

Cole looked at her suspiciously, taking in the t-shirt, but mostly lingering on her face and blonde hair. "And who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Mandy," she answered with a smile that she hoped looked like she was one of the dumb bimbos that flocked to the club.

"Do you know when Nichols will be back or where he went?" Sullins enquired, obviously marking her down as unimportant.

Amanda shrugged in response, "didn't ask."

"Do you know this woman?" Cole held up a photograph. _Freudinger's wife. _

Amanda shrugged again. "Should I?"

Cole put the photo away again. "It was worth a shot," he said, his tone implying he didn't quite believe her, but he would let it go for now. "Alright then. This," he shoved a piece of paper at her, "is a warrant that lets us search the apartment. So please step aside." He gestured to his left and suddenly, the hallway was crawling with uniformed police.

They were inside and starting to turn the place upside down in no time, waking Don in the process. All Amanda could do was sit beside Don and hiss in his ear, "we've just spent the night together, Jude wasn't here, he just gave us the keys!" before everything went south.

* * *

Abby was debating with herself whether she should go visit her parents. She'd been wanting to do that for days, but the whole Adam-or-not-Adam situation had pushed it from her mind. Now she was feeling guilty for not going early, but at the same time, she didn't feel like visiting anyone. She could already hear her mother ask her how she'd been, and unlike friends and acquaintances she surely would realize that the answer of "good" didn't sound right. Mothers always could tell when their children were upset, and Veronica Jenkins was no exception. Maybe a visit would do her good though. Maybe her mom could help her make sense of it. But maybe she would think her daughter had gone crazy. Not that she would say so, but...

Abby sighed. Talking to Amanda had helped some. Abby had let the other woman convince her that Adam was gone and this was all just a freak coincidence. Nick had voiced the same opinion the night before. And yet, when she was alone and thought back to the incident in her car, when Nichols had pulled the knife on her, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. The resemblance had been downright creepy.

The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Abby was surprised to see Nick and she said as much as she ushered him inside. "Not that I don't appreciate you dropping by," she grinned and kissed him, "but shouldn't you be at work, catching bad guys?"

"I should," he confirmed, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed. Abby could immediately see this wasn't a social call, but when he asked her to see the pictures she had shown him the night before - the ones of her time in Paris - it took her breath away.

"Why?" she managed, her brain going into overdrive. _Why would he need to see the pictures again if not to confirm a suspicion? Does he have reason to believe Nichols is Adam after all? Yesterday he put it down to a coincidence. What has changed?_

"I," he said, then paused. He took a deep breath and started again, "This morning, we were trying to arrest Nichols. We suspect him of murdering that banker," he paused again, letting the news sink in. When she didn't say anything, he continued, "we got a warrant for his arrest and one to search his apartment. When we arrived, he wasn't there. Instead, one of the _Skulls _was there with a woman. She wore one of the MC's t-shirts, said Nichols had given them the keys so they could spend the night." Nick sighed. "Obviously, that was a load of bullshit. When we got into the apartment, it turned out the biker had a bullet wound in his leg. They'd probably tried patching him up, we found bloody towels in the bathroom sink. We also found Nichols' laptop and we confiscated two swords. We think one is surely Nichols' as it was under the bed, the other we're not sure. It's shorter and a different kind," he shrugged as if to say he didn't know enough about swords to describe it better.

Unbidden, something Adam had once said to her in regards to his sword collection echoed in her mind: '_You can learn quite a lot about someone from their weapons'._ She shook her head to clear it before she could dwell on the fact that Adam would have been able to tell her the exact difference between the swords.

"The stuff was forwarded to the lab to check for prints and blood. We're also running both the guy's and the woman's prints through AFIS. Neither of the two is talking," Nick continued, oblivious to Abby's flashback. "But the woman..." his voice trailed off.

"What about her?" Abby asked. _And why do you want my Paris pictures?_

"She's tall, with short blonde hair, calls herself Mandy. It took me awhile to get it, but I think I've seen her before - in your pictures. If I'm right," he added before she could interrupt him, "it's your friend Amanda, the one who visited you yesterday."

"Whoa," Abby said, for lack of words that would adequately describe the way her head was starting to spin. She let herself fall on the couch and expectantly looked at Nick, hoping he could say something - anything - that would make this make sense. But just Nick stood there, he clearly had said all he could. He didn't look like it made much sense to him either.

After a long moment, Nick said, "can I take a look at the pictures?"

Abby drew a deep breath and nodded, "they're in the bedroom closet, I'll get them." _Facts first, implications later._

Once they were spread out on the coffee table, Nick started rifling through them in search for one showing Amanda. When he found one, he sat there staring at it for what seemed like an eternity.

"Is it her?" Abby prodded. She could already see the wheels in his head turning, so she knew the answer. But she wanted him to share his thoughts.

"I think so," Nick confirmed, running a hand through his short hair as he handed her the photo.

"So you also think Nichols is Adam?"

Nick shrugged helplessly. After all, he had been relieved to hear that Abby was beginning to think of the whole thing as a freak coincidence. And now here he was, bringing a connection to the table that – unbelievable though it may be – was very much real. "I don't know what to think," he sighed. "But something is definitely going on that we have no clue about, and that worries me."

"Yeah," Abby agreed reluctantly. _This is insane!_ She thought and voiced her concern, "but why would Amanda be mixed up in this?"

"Let's assume for a moment that Amanda didn't lie to you," Nick mused, "and that Adam never made contact with your friends in Paris after he vanished. Then she could have simply been curious to see this look-alike for herself."

"That would fit Amanda, but it still doesn't explain why she was in Nichols' apartment covering for him and his MC buddy." Abby leaned back on the couch, running her hands over her face. She could feel a headache coming on.

"No, it doesn't," Nick conceded.

"Does Charlie know?" Abby asked. She knew Nick and his partner were close, but she didn't feel comfortable sharing this information just yet.

"No," Nick admitted, "I thought I should check the facts first."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Nick shook his head slowly, "We can hold both of them for 24 hours max, maybe I can talk to Amanda without anyone listening in. Hopefully we'll get something back from the lab before we have to release them, get some leverage."

"Leverage?" Abby asked. "So you think Amanda has something to do with this after all?"

Nick shrugged, "I honestly don't know. But I'm going to find out what is going on one way or the other. The lab is running this case on high priority, but to be honest, I am not counting on them to be fast." Nick got up with a sigh. "I have to get going. Nichols is still out there. No one has seen him since yesterday, at least no one that will talk. And on top of that, Freudinger's wife is now missing, too." He looked at her, the plea in his eyes and voice obvious when he continued, "you shouldn't be here on your own. It would be a good time to visit your parents for a few days, until this blows over."

Abby's first instinct was to protest. She could look after herself. After all, she was a reporter and wouldn't be bullied into silence and submission. But then she remembered the knife at her throat and swallowed hard. So far, trying to look after herself hadn't worked out all that well. Finally, she nodded her consent. "I'll go, but you have to promise me you'll also be careful."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"...Assaro needs to go, permanently."

Methos wasn't surprised to see anger mixed with outright hatred in Caitlyn's eyes. After all, he had played slice and dice with her late husband. He was not going to deny that and insult her intelligence. Her next statement made him doubt though that all of it was directed exclusively at him.

"He should rot in hell," Caitlyn confirmed, her voice almost a growl.

"I can make that happen. I can get close to him, but I need to know how many young immortals he keeps around, so I know the fallout."

Something flashed in Caitlyn's eyes. "And why should I care?" she asked. "As far as I'm concerned, having that 'fallout' take you down would be just peachy."

Methos smiled and nodded. "It would, wouldn't it? But it would also mean that there would be some of his followers left to get back at you."

Caitlyn shrugged defiantly. "What if I don't care?"

"You can't tell me you don't care that this whole shit will just keep going, just with a different face pulling the strings. Maybe they'll disappear to lick their wounds for a while, but eventually, they'll rebuild their little empire and you know as well as I do that it won't be a better one than Assaro's." Methos was well aware that at this point, she may not care what happened to herself, now that her husband was gone, but she'd find another reason to live soon enough. He knew better than to tell her that though.

"Say you're right," she said after a pause, "and you're my only chance to get even with the bastard. How do you propose to do this?"

"You tell me everything you know and I'll make sure he and his flunkies bite the dust."

"This simple, hm?"

"Yes."

"What makes you so sure I even have that information?"

"I'm certain you do because Assaro seems to think so."

She looked at him in surprise. Then she laughed bitterly. "Oh he just can't stand the fact that I left him and his way of life behind. That's all."

It was Methos turn to shrug. "That may be his first reason, but it's not the only one." He took a sip of coffee to give her an opportunity to say something. When she didn't, he looked her in the eyes and said, "when Assaro told me to go after your husband, he didn't tell me it was about you. He sent me to get information out of him that he didn't have to give."

Caitlyn was trying hard not to show that his words rattled her, but he could see how her knuckles turned white as she clamped her hands into the bed sheet.

"He wanted us to fight it out in the end and he didn't want me to know who you were. He wouldn't take the chance of us talking. And if it hadn't been for Don, well, I don't know if we would be sitting here."

There was a silence as he let Caitlyn digest what he had said. In truth, he wasn't all that sure Assaro wanted her dead. If he did, why choose a night when she was not even home to send him after Freudinger? But as far as Methos was concerned, Caitlyn didn't need to know that.

"What do you want to know exactly?" she finally asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"All you know about how Assaro operates, what he's done in the past, what he's likely to do now, that sort of thing."

"Why is this so important to you?"

Methos shrugged. "Same reason as yours. He hurt someone very dear to me."

For an instance, it looked like Caitlyn was going to ask him for specifics, but she caught herself and asked instead, "And if I do help you, you'll make sure Assaro and his flunkies are finished?"

"Yes, you have my word," he said and stood to go. "You should get something to eat before we get started," he added with a nod towards the breakfast tray before he left her to her thoughts. So far, all had worked out well, but Methos doubted Caitlyn would just back down and do as he said. She would come around, if he played it right, but he knew she would never really trust him. _And that's just fine with me, she doesn't have to._

* * *

"Have they finally said anything?" Lieutenant Quintana asked the two detectives in the hallway.

Nick shook his head, carefully taking a sip of the coffee he'd just gotten from the machine, almost burning his tongue in his haste to get some much needed caffeine into his system.

"Still nothing," Charlie said, "both are sticking to the woman's story and neither is filling in any blanks despite being stuck in their respective interrogation rooms for hours. They've requested lawyers, but they're not here yet."

It had been a long morning with pretty much zero results. Nick felt like all he was doing was to wait. Waiting for the results for the prints, the lab results, Freudinger's wife to turn up or be found, for signs of Nichols' whereabouts and for the right time to sneak into interrogation room number four where Amanda was waiting for her lawyer. There was an APB out for both Caitlyn Freudinger and Jude Nichols, but it was as if both had been swallowed by a giant black hole. Charlie even had a theory that the two of them had eloped, never to be seen again, but Nick didn't believe that for a second. The problem was that he had no clue what to believe instead, though deep down he suspected they would not see Caitlyn Freudinger alive.

"That was to be expected," Quintana nodded. "Keep them here for as long as you can, maybe the lab results will give us something for leverage." With that, she turned and headed back to her office.

"Yeah, sure," Charlie said sarcastically, "Nichols kills someone with a sword and then just packs it back under his bed for us to find all the evidence we need. And on that other sword we recovered, we'll find the other two's prints and the weapon will match half the wounds on the victim, giving us enough to not only charge all three of them with murder one, but also gets those two talking, serving us Nichols on a silver platter." He rolled his eyes.

Nick just sighed and sat down at his desk. They both knew that the likelihood of them finding anything to tie even one of the three to the crime was ridiculously low. "Quintana is grasping for straws, just like us."

"Yeah, I suppose she is," Charlie admitted, turning back to his computer and his research.

Toward the far wall of the open office space the fax machine was whirring away. Nick went over to check if it was anything to do with his case. _Bingo_, he thought as he shuffled through the papers. The prints and a preliminary lab report had come through.

Donald "Don" Hastings, convicted for armed robbery, suspected of anything from breaking and entering to aggravated assault and attempted murder. Member of the _Skulls MC_ Los Angeles chapter. The rap sheet of Jude Nichols followed. His prints had indeed been on the sword they'd found under the bed as well as on the other one. But – as feared – there was no sign of blood on either weapon. So far, this was nothing they hadn't expected.

What surprised Nick though, was that those were not the only prints found on the shorter sword: Amanda Darieux, alternately living in Paris and various places across the globe, suspect in at least a dozen unsolved heists, where each time, something very valuable and rare went missing never to surface again. Each time she had been able to wriggle out of any charges filed against her and yet, her name kept popping up.

Now he definitely had to get to Amanda before her lawyer arrived. Stealing a glance at his partner, who seemed engrossed in whatever was on his screen, he grabbed the case file from his own desk before making a beeline to the back, where not only the bathroom was located, but also the interrogation rooms.

* * *

The air in interrogation room number four was stale. When Nick slipped in, Mandy – _no, Amanda_, he corrected himself – looked up expectantly.

"Can I go now?" she asked.

Nick had to do a double take, glancing from the girl sitting at the table to the report in his hand. According to the paperwork, Amanda Darieux was in her mid-thirties. The woman opposite him didn't look like she had reached thirty yet and her pouting expression didn't help close that gap either.

Sitting down himself he said, "No, Miss Darieux, you can't."

Amanda shifted in her seat almost imperceptibly.

Nick put the papers down on the table so she could see her own rap sheet and the cover of the case file for the Freudinger murder. "Why are you here?"

"Because you arrested me," Amanda said nonchalantly, all pretence at being a dumb rocker chick forgotten. The change in demeanour made her instantly seem older.

"Why are you in Los Angeles."

"I like the climate."

"Listen," Nick said trying to find something in her eyes that gave her away, "I know you came because Abby called Joe. The question is, are you here to help her or harm her?"

Amanda didn't flinch at the names or the insinuation, she replied evenly, "I would never harm Abby."

"Then what were you doing in Nichols' apartment?" It took all his strength not to let his anger get the better of him.

She looked him up and down and Nick got the weird feeling that she was sizing him up – what for he couldn't say. Maybe she was trying to gauge if she could trust him, maybe she was trying to find a way to con him. _Probably the latter,_ Nick decided.

"And what are you doing with a sword?" he prodded.

"I'm not doing anything," she finally said. "But Abby's story had me intrigued, so I decided to check the guy out myself."

He looked at her incredulously. Abby had said it was a possibility, that Amanda was the type to head right into things, but seeing the woman in front of him, he seriously questioned if Abby's assessment was correct. The Amanda sitting in front of him, the alleged thief, didn't strike him as someone to tempt fate by throwing herself in harm's way. Unless...

"You broke into his apartment," he said, "you knew he wouldn't be home."

Amanda just smiled at that. "I wouldn't go confront a biker. These guys are dangerous, you know," she said, neither confirming nor denying his allegations.

"What about Hastings?" he asked, jerking his head toward the other interrogation room. "How does he fit in?"

"Say I did break in – which of course I didn't – then I guess I would have found him bleeding on the couch."

"And just like that you found it in your heart to patch him up and cover for his buddy?" Nick's voice was now dripping sarcasm. "And in between even donned one of his shirts?"

Amanda shrugged, an amused smile still playing on her lips. "Maybe."

_She just loves to jerk me around,_ Nick realized. _Amanda knows I cannot hold her, she won't give me anything._ He was stunned that his Abby could have anything to do with people like her.

Something must have shown on his face, because Amanda's smile suddenly vanished and she lean toward him, "Look, I can't tell you where Nichols is because I honestly don't know. What I can tell you though, is that I do not want to see Abby hurt any more than you do."

"Is that so?" he asked. "What about everyone else? Take Mr. Freudinger here for instance." He slid the case file open and fanned the crime scene photos out on the table as he spoke. "He was tortured before he died. All this blood you see here, it's his. And I'm positive that Nichols was wielding the sword."

Amanda looked at each of the images he shoved over with wide eyes. _A reaction at last_, Nick thought. "Now Freudinger's wife is missing," he produced a picture of Caitlyn and put it next to the gory images, "and I'm pretty sure Nichols is behind that as well. Maybe he still has questions that the husband didn't answer. And while you sit here playing games, he may be slicing her open to get them."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long, this chapter was kinda hard to write (mainly because fight scenes aren't so easy for me, but also because I had to decide where this will go from here). I hope this was worth the wait nevertheless. Naturally, I'd love to hear your opinions!  
**

**~ Thank you FerretKid for pointing out some typos! I'm always glad when someone does cos a spell check only helps so much (and English isn't my first language either) ~  
**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The pictures were even worse than the bloodthirsty coverage of the boulevard press. Amanda swallowed the giant lump building in her throat. It almost choked her, but she did it anyway. _You've seen worse,_ she reminded herself, only to have that nagging voice inside of her answer with _Yeah, but when? During the witch hunts? In World War II? Those were different times!_

The images burned themselves into her mind. The body was covered in cuts and there was blood everywhere. In between, sterile kitchen tiles showed through and in one shot, a calendar could be seen in the background, a bloody streak running across a picture of southern France. Amanda tried to look beyond horror to see if there was any sign that this had been Methos' work specifically. While the cuts did look like a sword was the weapon it could just as well have been any other sharp knife or dagger. Amanda knew that if someone knew what they were doing, they could prolong their victim's life by placing the cuts strategically, but it was impossible to tell from the photos, only the coroner's report would be helpful there.

Amanda was trying hard to keep to the principle of "innocent until proven guilty", but memories of the previous night's encounter were popping into her mind making it almost impossible to stay unbiased. The thought of the tattoo on the old man's chest still made her skin crawl. Not to mention the feeling of cold steel against her neck. He definitely wasn't the mild-mannered guy she remembered anymore.

Even through all these doubts, there was one thing Methos had told her she believed without question. He had said he'd just wanted to scare Abby away. Not that he had looked to be feeling anywhere near guilty when Amada had confronted him with the fact that he'd given Abby the shock of her lifetime. But still, Amanda felt that as long as Abby stayed out of Methos' way, she would be fine. And her cop boyfriend, too. What Methos would do if Nick was right and Caitlyn Freudinger indeed had information he needed was different, though.

For Nick's benefit, she cleared her throat nervously. "I don't want anything to do with this," she said, pushing the pictures back towards him.

"Then tell me, how do you know Nichols?"

Amanda was saved from answering by a knock on the door. A uniformed police man stuck his head inside. "Her lawyer is here."

Begrudgingly Nick collected the pictures and stood. When the officer had left he leaned down to Amanda. "We are not done yet," he promised.

* * *

Caitlyn took her time with her "breakfast" – it had to be past noon by now. Nichols had left the door ajar, probably to show her she was no prisoner, that she had a choice. _And what kind of choice would that be? _To help the guy that murdered her husband to get rid of the guy who hired him in the first place or to leave and make one more enemy. _Because that is what Nichols will become if I go._

_Phil might take me back_, she thought for a fleeting moment thinking back to how he had taken her in after her first death. He had been her savior when she was confused. But had he really been that? He had shown her the ropes, yes, but only as far as was in his interest. And besides, even if he did, she could never go back and pretend nothing had happened. Nichols was right when he said Assaro needed to go and his flunkies with him. That much was certain. They had strength in numbers, though, and she only had her wrath.

Caitlyn sighed as she finished off the last crumbs. She had needed the food, she couldn't even remember when she had last eaten. _Probably before…._ Images of blood all over the kitchen floor flashed through her mind and she shoved them right back down as fast as she could. It wouldn't do to get lost in them now. She had a dilemma to solve after all.

Nichols had said Assaro had hurt someone close to him and she had let it slide because she had a feeling there would be no answer to any prying on her part. But that didn't mean she wasn't curious. "Hurt" was a description that could mean just about anything after all: hurt someone's feelings, beaten someone, tortured someone, murdered someone...

So which was it? Or was it any at all? _It's not like I know the guy well enough to see if he's lying. _She didn't even know if he could make good on his offer. _And where does that leave me? _Come to think of it, who was to say that he would just let her go after all was said and done even if he were to get rid of Assaro?

Caitlyn knew then that she needed to get out of there. Maybe she could get a new life for herself somewhere where neither of the two men could find her. Start over. She would think of something, but first, she needed to get away.

She tried the window for starters. Beyond, all she could see was the forest. No matter how she tugged at it, it remained closed. _Maybe_ _I_ _can_ _smash_ _it_. But even as she was looking around for something to help her with that she dismissed the thought again. _Too loud._

Caitlyn pushed the door open a bit further and peered into the hallway. To her right, it opened into the living room. From where she was standing only an old fashioned fire place with a couch in front of it was visible. And on the couch, with his back to her, Nichols.

To the left were two doors. The first opened to a tiny bathroom with an even tinier window set high in the far wall. No chance she'd fit through that even if it could be opened fully. The second door was locked. Great. _Through the front door it is then._

With a calming breath she stepped into the living room, quickly taking in her surroundings. A kitchen area was set up to the left, half vanishing around the corner. To the right was an old fashioned cupboard full of kitsch that complimented the feeling of being in a vacation cabin. And between that and the fireplace - the door.

"It's in the drawer," Nichols' calm voice almost literally made Caitlyn jump. She tried to say something but came up empty. Her look must have been enough though. "Your sword," Nichols prompted nodding towards the cupboard.

Caitlyn wondered only briefly. As she opened the drawer and saw her sword she quickly decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She took it out, turned around and in one fluid motion fell into a fighting stance.

So far, Nichols had only watched her across the couch's back without moving more than his head. When she leveled the sword at him, he didn't blink. "This is how you want to play it?" he asked, surprising Caitlyn with his almost sad smile. Had he really hoped she would just let bygones be bygones?

"What did you expect?" Caitlyn spat. "You murdered my husband! Now you are going to die!" Caitlyn realized with a start that this was what she wanted the most right now. To hell with all the consequences!

"I thought as much," he replied evenly and dove behind the couch. When he came back up he was holding a sword of his own.

He parried her first blow across the couch and immediately went for a stabbing motion that made Caitlyn jump back. She felt the open drawer at her back but couldn't stop her momentum. The whole cupboard shook and she heard china breaking as she crashed into it.

"Let's take this outside, shall we?" Nichols opened the door and stepped outside vanishing out of sight towards the left.

Caitlyn followed as fast as she could determined not to let him get away. She only slowed around the corner but took up speed again when she saw Nichols standing in the middle of the driveway. As she stepped off the porch she registered her BMW was parked to her right. Sand crunched beneath her feet as she took the few remaining steps toward Nichols.

This time she didn't have time to fall into a ready stance first. As soon as she was within reach, Nichols stepped in with an arching blow. Caitlyn got her sword up just in time to block but the force made her shoulder ring. The next strike came from her left forcing her to take her sword into both hands. Which it wasn't made for but then it wasn't exactly made for small hands either.

_You need to get a grip! And not just on the sword,_ Caitlyn thought as she parried and felt herself being driven backwards across the clearing. Save for the metallic sound of steel on steel and a few birds singing everything was quiet making Caitlyn wonder where they were.

All thoughts of her surroundings were stifled though when Nichols tried to get into her defense again. Each time he tried, she managed to block his advances, but the onslaught was wearing her down. The sword felt heavy in her hands and both her shoulders ached. Nichols on the other hand seemed fine. He, too, was sweating, a look of concentration showing on his face, but Caitlyn had no doubt he would be able to keep this up far longer than herself.

She parried again and there it was. Nichols foot slipped on the dry sand, throwing him off balance for a second. It was all Caitlyn needed. She used the opening to strike at Nichols' side, aiming below the ribs. In one fluid motion, Nichols turned away from her blade, spinning 360 degrees and bringing his own weapon down on her unprotected side.

A sharp pain shot up from where the steel bit into her flesh, her ribs stopping the worst of it. Caitlyn didn't have time to pull herself together again before Nichols pressed his advantage. He twirled his rapier around her broadsword, wrenching it from her all too loose grip. It landed several feet away, clattering. Caitlyn felt as if she were watching herself from outside, unable to do anything as Nichols brought his sword around in an arch aimed at her neck.

The blade stopped inches from her skin.

* * *

Despite Nick Cole's promise that they weren't done yet, the cop had to back down pretty much as soon as the lawyer arrived. Not only did the police have nothing to hold either Don nor Amanda on, but also, Don's bandage needed to be changed and they had to release him to get to a hospital. What the police didn't have to do, though, was to do anything quickly. While they didn't dare keep Don longer than necessary – especially not after the lawyer, a greasy sort of guy who had probably been chasing ambulances before the MC took him under their wings, told them they would be in for a lawsuit if Don's leg so much as healed slowly – but they had no qualms about letting Amanda sit in the interrogation room until Don was well on his way to the hospital.

Amanda briefly wondered if she should go back to the hotel to get her secondary sword before going to visit Don at the hospital, but decided against it. She wanted to catch Don alone, before his MC buddies would show up. The sword could stay where it was, she was good at evading anyway and besides, if the police caught her with another sword, it would be hard to talk herself out of that one.

Don was still in the waiting area when she arrived. Amanda let herself fall onto the seat beside him.

"Hi, Don," she greeted him.

"What do you want?" Don asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I wanted to see how you were doing –"

"Cut the crap. Now, what do you want?"

"Do you have any way to reach Jude?"

"And if I did?"

"I need to talk to him. A phone number, a place, I'll take whatever."

"Why would I help you?"

"Because I helped you when you were bleeding all over the couch yesterday, while Jude, who shot you in the first place, ran off."

"True enough," Don conceded. "Thing is, I know Jude, but I don't know you, so the least you need to tell me is what you're gonna do once you find him."

Amanda sighed inwardly, _If only I knew_. "I just need to talk to him. We used to be friends…"

"Used to be?"

"We lost contact," Amanda hesitated, trying to figure out how much she should tell him. Finally, she went with, "look, it's complicated. Just give me his cell number and if he doesn't want to see me, he can tell me himself."

* * *

_Stockholm Syndrome. That would come in handy just about now, _Methos thought. _But that takes time and that I don't have. _With an inward sigh he turned around and scooped up Caitlyn's sword. It was a fine weapon but too heavy for the slender woman. He had given it back mostly to get this inevitable fight out of the way. Though part of him had hoped she wouldn't immediately start to attack, he couldn't really blame her.

Caitlyn was on her knees breathing heavily and watching him as if he was a cat that liked to toy with a mouse. Maybe a little more talking to begin with would have been the better choice. Would've, should've, could've - it was no use. Caitlyn sure as hell didn't look like she was in the mood for talking now, least of all about the things he needed to know.

_Maybe I'll have to kill her and find another way, _he mused. The intel she could give him about Assaro and his little minions was valuable, but not irreplaceable. _It'll take a bit longer, but I'll get there. And if I deliver her head on the proverbial platter, maybe it'll even speed up the process some._

_First the husband now the wife? Is that how you roll these days, old man?_

The accusation took him aback. Where had this come from?

_Have you become that callous, Methos?_

Methos shook his head to clear it, but instead of focusing his vision began to blur. _Just the sun reflecting off the steel,_ he told himself.

_Aren't you at least going to try and win her over?_

Methos glanced over to Caitlyn who hadn't moved. _There's no use in trying. Just look at her. She wants my head and nothing I can say will change that._

_How about you try some truth for a change? _

Methos nodded slowly. After all, he had nothing to lose but a few hours of his time.

* * *

It felt like time had stopped and all Caitlyn could hear was her own ragged breath slowly calming as the wound healed crisscrossed by tiny blue sparks of lightning. Nichols had scooped up her sword and was looking intently at it, as if it would come alive any second. Then he nodded slowly and walked over to the deck. He flopped down onto one of the garden chairs putting both swords on the table beside him.

Caitlyn finally stood up and took a step towards Nichols. The sandy driveway hardly deserved to be called that. The little cottage was standing on the edge of a clearing in the thick woods. The road leading up to it was a graveled path, just wide enough for one car, broadening into the clearing. There was just enough room left for the sun to reach down and touch the porch where Nichols was sitting watching her.

"Look," he said and it sounded almost apologetically, "I'm not gonna pretend I'm one of the good guys. I haven't been in years. But I can help you here, maybe more than you think."

"If I help you first, you mean." Caitlyn watched him wearily. Part of her still wanted him dead, yet she knew that she could never take him in a fight.

"How old do you think I am?" he asked.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. He couldn't have been more than 24 when he died, so most likely, he was no older than thirty now, seeing as Phil only took in the young ones. "Thirty-something," she said.

That made Nichols smile. "Way off the mark. Ignore the outfit for a minute."

She looked at him more closely, trying to look past the biker cut, the tattoos and the long hair, but it wasn't working. All she saw was yet another one of Phil's flunkies. On the other hand, the move he had pulled on her was anything but that of a rookie. Maybe a rookie with good training could have pulled it off, though, she wasn't certain, it had all happened so fast.

"Try a few hundred," he said, his smile spreading at her doubtful expression. "It's up to you to believe me there, but fact is, I'm way older than the usual Assaro bait."

Caitlyn felt like a piece of a puzzle had suddenly clicked into place. "So Assaro thinks you're a greenhorn and you hope to turn that against him."

"Yes." Nichols gestured for her to take the seat next to him, but opposite the table with the swords, "he killed a very good friend of mine and I swore I'd have revenge. But I need to get past the immortals that surround him, first."

Caitlyn nodded as she sat down on the edge of the chair. For as long as she'd known him, Assaro had always had a bunch of young and eager to fight immortals around him. He would send them to do his dirty work while he stood by to collect the spoils, which was mostly the heads of older immortals he couldn't have dreamed of defeating had they not been weakened by a quickening first.

"Who was your friend?" she asked, not without trepidation. She had been at Phil's side for more than 25 years after all and chances were she had witnessed the death of his friend.

Nichols seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he looked her in the eyes when he said, "His name was MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod."

Caitlyn had no doubt that he could see the recognition there. She hoped he wasn't able to see the lump forming in her throat. She remembered Duncan MacLeod alright.


	13. Chapter 13

******A/N: at long last a new, albeit short-ish chapter from me. Sorry for being so bad at updating - life and stuff, you know the drill ^^ Thank you to everyone who was reviewing and faving!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

**Then**

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," she heard the Scotsman's voice ring out across the misty fairground. It not being carnival season the lot was closed to the public and all attractions had been boarded shut. The only people remaining were Caitlyn, Felipe and their family. They owned the fair and had set up winter quarters just outside of Paris, while the seasonal workers had gone home to their own families.

Family, Caitlyn mused, that expression had gone from having a hollow ring to her to being all that mattered. Her world revolved around the fair and the people inside it, so it was with determination that she stepped out from behind the trailer to face MacLeod, ready to defend them.

"I'm looking for Felipe," he said evenly, eyes fixed on Caitlyn and her sword.

She could feel the eyes of her people following both of them. Apparently, he had the same impression, because he broke eye contact and started looking around, as if expecting someone to join them any minute.

"He's not here," she replied, trying to assess the man. "What do you want?"

MacLeod shrugged and flipped his katana to rest against the back of his arm. He had obviously decided she and whoever was watching posed no immediate threat. "I wanted to talk to him about using the kids here to steal for him," he replied.

Caitlyn's eyes narrowed in suspicion. What was he talking about? Granted, not all their activities were legal, but they kept the kids out of that.

"I caught one of them, Laurent he said his name was, as he tried to steal my wallet," MacLeod explained, "at first I thought he was a runaway, trying to make a living. So imagine my surprise when he told me he had done it to fill some sort of quota so his family won't get into trouble with the big boss."

The Laurent Caitlyn knew was twelve, but it couldn't have been him. "I don't know who tried to rob you, but it sure wasn't one of our kids," she said with conviction.

"And who are you, exactly?" MacLeod wanted to know.

"Felipe's partner. I know all about him and this business, so I suggest you take your unfounded accusations elsewhere," she threatened.

"Or what?"

Caitlyn shrugged and smiled humorlessly, "Felipe doesn't take kindly to accusations."

"I don't react well to threats," MacLeod replied, unconcerned, and handed her a business card. "Tell him to call me when he's ready to clear this up." As he turned to go he added, "if I were you, I'd reevaluate how well you _really_ know your partner."

**Now**

"That was the first and last time I met him," Caitlyn explained.

"So, did you reevaluate your partnership?" Nichols asked.

"Not right away," she sighed at the memory. "When Felipe - _Phil_ came home, I confronted him. Or rather, I just asked him if there was any truth to MacLeod's words."

"Let me guess, he denied it all," Nichols supplied when she hesitated.

Caitlyn nodded. She had been so focused on Phil and on finally belonging somewhere, she had just shut her eyes on the truth. "I was young and naïve, I just believed him and looked the other way. It took years before I was able to see what was going on right in front of my nose. But even then, I was apparently too dumb to see that I needed to get far away from him, where he couldn't mess with me any longer." Caitlyn's voice was trembling with pent up frustration.

She took a deep breath and asked, "Phil killed him for interfering, didn't he?"

"Either he personally or one of his flunkies, either way, he's responsible," Nichols confirmed, hard eyes staring out into the clearing.

A silence followed that neither of the two seemed to be willing to break, both lost in thoughts of the past.

Caitlyn nearly jumped when the quiet was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

"Yeah," Nichols answered.

Then, after a short pause, "I hope you're on a prepaid."

His counterpart on the phone was obviously giving him an earful as this time, the pause stretched.

"It's refreshing to know you're thinking the worst of me." A grin was spreading across his face as he added, "I can assure you, she's very much alive."

Another pause. Then, "Tell you what, you come out here and see for yourself."

He gave directions to the cabin that sounded to Caitlyn as if they were smack in the middle of nowhere before ending the call.

"We're going to have a visitor," Nichols announced unnecessarily. "But it'll be a while yet. Want a beer?" he asked casually, not waiting for her answer as he went inside.

Caitlyn stared at the two swords he had just left lying on the table as if they didn't matter one bit. And maybe they didn't. In any case, she was too spent to do much of anything. The previous fight had left her physically drained and the conversation had brought up memories she would rather have forgotten.

She had been such a good little soldier back then and she hadn't even realized it. Caitlyn had done everything for Phil because she had been completely adamant that he would do the same for her. Thinking back, she felt embarrassed at following him so blindly.

Nichols handed her a can of beer, straight from the fridge, and sat back down next to her. He popped his and took a long drink. "I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record here," he started looking over the clearing pensively, "but I do think we can work together on this."

Unsure of what to say to this, Caitlyn took a sip of her own beer.

Nichols turned toward her. "I'm sorry about your husband," he said and Caitlyn thought she could see in his eyes that he meant it. But even if this were real, and she was well aware that she had no idea if it was, she couldn't accept the apology. The pain of losing Thomas was still too fresh and the memory of the Scotsman and his advice wasn't going to change any of that.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she finally said, "but I really don't know if I can do this."

"I'm not asking you to get personally involved," Nichols reasoned. "All I'm asking is that you tell me what you know about his inner circle and his methods. I'll handle the rest."

* * *

Before calling the old man, Amanda had gone to the hotel for a quick shower and change of clothes. Afterwards, she had gone out to get her ersatz sword. She hadn't even made it down the block when she had felt eyes prying into the back of her skull. The police had put a tail on her. Just great. So, instead of going straight for her emergency stash, where she also kept a prepaid for events such as this - one could never be too paranoid in her line of work - she had gone crisscrossing across town until she was sure she'd lost them.

Now, Amanda was fuming. First, Methos had left her to tend to his biker friend, landing her in jail where she had been forced to look at what was supposedly his handiwork, and now he had the audacity to pretend all was good, inviting her and giving her directions and all. He hadn't even wanted to know who had given her the number, either. Which Amanda would have gladly pegged as being due to her tenacious personality, if she hadn't known the old man for a while. He left nothing to chance, ever.

If she was honest, Amanda had not expected the call to be productive in the least. The best she could hope for had been him assuring her of the fact that, no, he had nothing to do with Caitlyn Freudinger's disappearance and of course he wasn't torturing her to get information. And no, he hadn't been the one to kill her husband, what on earth made her think that? And no matter how convincing he might have been, Amanda doubted she would have believed him.

But this…

She certainly hadn't expected directions to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Or his joking attitude. That was more like the Methos she remembered than the Methos she had met the night before.

And yet, she wasn't sure. Amanda realized with a start that her anger was giving way to an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of meeting Methos in a cabin in the woods. She had no clue how far gone the old man really was. In the worst case scenario, this could be a trap to take her head.

With that thought on her mind, Amanda turned on her heels and went back to her stash.

* * *

The woman's visit had left Don strangely apprehensive. Not because he thought she could do any damage to the club or Jude, but because he was unsure what Jude would say when he found out Don had been the one to give out his number. He didn't get to do much brooding though as the waiting room grew silent with the arrival of his club brothers.

"How are you?" Bill, his VP, asked while Mike leaned down slapping him on the back.

"Been better," Don replied, noticing how the other patients were trying to look everywhere but at the group of bikers.

"What the hell happened?" Jack asked, looking curiously at his bandaged foot.

"Saul told us you got arrested," Mike supplied. "And that a woman was with you."

"Yeah, long story," Don sighed, running both hands through his hair. He wasn't in the mood to go through everything that had happened. Especially since he was pretty sure he didn't know all of it himself.

"Give us the short version then," the VP insisted figuring Don didn't want to talk with that many ears nearby.

"I got shot, Jude helped deal with it. Then the police picked me up at Nichol's apartment when he wasn't there." Don shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. He just hoped his face told the same story. Don knew his brothers wouldn't react well to the prospect shooting a member in the leg. About Cat's death, he wasn't so sure. She had left them after all, which in the eyes of most of the bikers made her a traitor. Don himself had seen her as one, but seeing her get shot just like that had shown him things were not as clear cut as he'd thought. The incident had also proven to him that he shouldn't mess with Jude. So he'd rather keep his buddies in the dark for a while than risk an all out confrontation with him caught in the middle.

Bill nodded. "I see," he said in a tone that told Don that this conversation wasn't over, just postponed. Especially the part about who shot him. Retribution was a big part of the MC life, after all.

Thankfully, that was when the nurse came to get him.

"I'll see you later at the club house," Don told them as he let the nurse help him into a wheelchair and cart him off towards the doctor's office.

* * *

When Amanda arrived at the cabin, the sun was almost setting. The house looked peaceful, like something from a vacation catalogue. When she drove into the clearing, she felt two quickenings. _At least she's still alive,_ she thought, apprehensively grasping the Glock in her jacket pocket that she had brought for insurance. Killing the engine, she grabbed her sword from the passenger's seat and got out.

In the dimming light, she could barely see the figure sitting on the porch, feet on the railing. Even before Amanda got close enough to make out his features, she recognized Methos' sprawl.

"Hey," he greeted her.

Amanda's eyes narrowed. "Where is she?"

"Oh, she's in the basement, I'm taking a break from torturing," he said, sarcasm seeping into his tone that took Amanda a second to recognize.

In the meantime she must have looked at him in complete shock, because Methos' grin spread wide as he said, "Come on Amanda, I already told you she's fine. She just went inside to go to the bathroom and get another beer."

He gestured for her to sit down, but Amanda stayed where she was. The two swords on the table next to Methos hadn't escaped her.

"Have it your way," he shrugged.

"I want to know what is going on," Amanda pressed.

"And you will," he said.

At that moment, a dark haired woman stepped out of the cabin, two beer cans in hand. She put them on the table and wiped her fingers on her jeans before sticking out a hand toward Amanda. "Hi, you must be Amanda, I'm Caitlyn," she introduced herself.

Slightly taken aback, Amanda took the proffered hand. "I am. I'm sorry for your loss," she said, realizing it would be awkward when she later had to broach the subject of Methos' alleged involvement. But if she was here and sharing a beer with the old man, at least that meant that he hadn't killed Freudinger after all.

Caitlyn tried a sad smile. "Thanks," she said taking her seat next to Methos. The fact that now Methos was between the swords and Caitlyn didn't sit too well with Amanda.

Deciding to confront him now and get it over with, Amanda said, "Don and I got arrested this morning. In your apartment."

Methos just arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

"They were looking for the weapon Thomas Freudinger got murdered with."

Caitlyn looked at the floor, obviously upset at having the topic dragged up again. But she didn't say anything.

"They can look all they want," Methos replied calmly. "They're not going to find anything."

"Then it wasn't you?" Amanda had to ask. She needed him to tell her to her face that this had not been his doing.

"They won't find anything because the sword is at the bottom of the ocean," Methos explained in a voice that sounded like 'do you take me for an idiot that leaves evidence lying around?'.

Amanda just gaped at him, not knowing what to say to that. Then she looked at Caitlyn who was still studying the floor, then back at the old immortal. What the hell was going on here?

5


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Methos knew the moment the words had left his mouth that it hadn't been the right thing to say. Amanda had gone pale in an instant and Caitlyn seemed to be fighting hard to keep her composure. "Look, Amanda," he tried, catching his friend's eyes, "it's complicated."

"Isn't it always with you?" Amanda said. Try as he might, he couldn't read her expression for the life of him. He did notice her looking at Caitlyn, though.

"You're wondering why she's here," he stated. How was he going to explain this without upsetting Caitlyn even more? "Do you want to wait inside until I've explained…?" he asked Caitlyn who shook her head no. He hadn't expected her to take the offer, but he'd had to try. Then he addressed Amanda who was still standing in the driveway.

"I found the guy who killed Mac. He calls himself Philip Assaro and runs a biker gang. He surrounds himself with young immortals, just like he did back in Paris." Methos watched both women closely as he explained his own involvement with the MC in as few words as possible – no need to get into the gory details here – as well as Caitlyn's former standing with Assaro and their unfortunate connection through her husband's death. "I think, ultimately, he wanted me to kill Caitlyn, but first he wanted to teach her a lesson. And I'm sure he wanted to test me."

Amanda had listened without interrupting him, her eyes searching his for clues that could tell her if he was telling the truth. Methos hoped she had seen the sincerity, but he knew that even if she had, the trust they'd once shared was gone – for now at least. And he was using the word 'now' as loosely as possible.

Methos still remembered well how betrayed Mac had felt when his horsemen days had come to haunt him and how long it had taken to get back to some semblance of normal. Amanda had been the one to help make that happen. Her and Joe. Both had been understanding and supportive, telling Mac that it had been a long time ago and that Methos had changed since…

This would take longer for sure; there was no "a long time ago" in this one. If Amanda could ever understand at all. But he wasn't going to let her interfere – not now, that he'd come so close. So he studied her face as well, for any sign of her actually turning on him.

Amanda shook her head as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. "Revenge? Really?! I thought you didn't even know how to spell that anymore." Her tone was half surprise, half outrage. And did he detect a hint of appreciation? He wasn't sure.

"Hasty, unplanned revenge that is going to get me killed, _that_ I don't know how to spell," he replied watching Caitlyn follow the exchange with interest out of the corner of his eyes. Of course she would be eager to know a bit more about the guy who had offered her a truce.

"And you couldn't even call?!" Amanda wanted to know.

"I didn't think anyone would be interested," he shot back.

"Joe's been worried sick!"

"We've been over that." Methos was in no mood to get back into that conversation.

"Fine. _I _have been worried."

The admission startled Methos. "Why?"

Amanda looked at him as if he'd just asked her if the sky was blue. "Because we're friends," she stated with conviction before adding sadly, "at least I thought we were."

"Friends don't come carrying swords and guns," he said evenly after a pause.

The gun comment seemed to take Amanda by surprise. But she caught herself fast. "They usually don't make you fear for your life, either."

"When…?" he started to ask, but stopped himself, thinking about the night before. "Right, that wasn't too nice," he admitted with what he hoped was a boyish smile.

"The police showed me some pictures," Amanda said with a cautious glance toward Caitlyn. Methos nodded to show her he got it. They'd shown her crime scene photos that left little to the imagination. She had seen what he had done and no explanation of his could make the images disappear. Neither of them wanted to talk about this in front of Caitlyn, so they silently agreed to leave it at that.

"Amanda, put the sword away and sit down with us, have a beer," Methos changed the subject gesturing to the cans on the table. "I'll fix us something to eat." With that, he got up and went inside without looking back. _Let the women have some time to think._ Or talk, possibly about him. Maybe it would serve to ease them into the situation a bit better than with him looking over their shoulders.

He had done all he could. Now it was up to them.

* * *

Abby was restless. She had gone to her parents' house just like she had promised Nick, but sitting around, unable to do anything was getting to her. Her mother had tried to get the reason for her edgy mood out of her, but Abby had been able to circumvent the topic by asking about her mother's health and dad's work and what-have-you. All the while staring at her cell phone, willing it to ring with Nick telling her he had caught the guy and she was safe to come out.

Night had fallen though without a word and Abby had gone outside to alternately stare into the darkness of the garden and at her phone. She could hear doors opening and closing inside, but no door bell. Muffled voices mixed with slow footsteps. Her dad had come home.

Sure enough, a little while later the backdoor opened and Frank Jensen stepped outside.

"Hey girl," he greeted her cheerfully, pulling her into a hug. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, dad," Abby answered, smiling.

"How have you been?"

"Fine," Abby said, trying for the cheerfulness she should be feeling on her holiday, but failing.

Frank looked skeptically at her. "Fine, hmm? You don't sound fine, your mum was right. Come, sit down."

Abby had though it had been too easy getting her mum off her back – and here was the explanation. Veronica knew Abby was more likely to talk to her dad anyway, so she had left it to him. With a defeated sigh, Abby sat down on the rattan chair.

"Is everything okay with you and Nick?" her dad wanted to know.

"Yeah, we're good, dad."

"Then what?"

"It's a long story," Abby sighed. She hadn't wanted to tell it again, but her dad was focused on making his little girl better and nothing would deter him from that. So she went through the events once more, her father listening intently.

When she had finished, he said, "So Nick really thinks this guy has it in for you?"

Abby nodded. "I'm not so sure though. He just scared me away, and since then, I've kept my distance, so why should he be interested in me at all?"

"But if he was, wouldn't he be able to find you here, too?"

"Maybe." Abby had pondered over these question herself. It had been pretty much all she had been doing all day. "But it would slow him down at least. And I think Nick doesn't want me to be alone."

"I'm glad you came. I wouldn't want you to be alone either," her dad said with a wink that was supposed to bring back some lightheartedness but fell short.

The chiming of the doorbell was muffled out here. Both had heard the sound though none made a move to check who it was.

"Maybe it's Nick," Abby said with a sinking feeling. "He wanted to come by if he could." And he only could if the case would allow, which didn't bode well for progress in that department.

Sure enough, not a minute later the door opened and Nick stepped onto the deck holding a manila envelope. His shirt was crumpled from sitting in it all day. Abby couldn't make out his expression in the dim light, but she had little doubt that he didn't bring good news.

"Hi Abby, Frank," he greeted them tiredly. He gave Abby a chaste kiss on the cheek before he let himself fall into the chair beside her. "What a useless day."

"No progress?" Abby asked just to keep the conversation going.

Nick glanced from Frank to Abby who gave a slight nod. "I take it Abby told you," he said.

"Yes, she did," Frank replied.

"Well, I've never felt so much like I've spent the day running into a brick wall, repeatedly, as I do today."

"That bad?" Abby asked sympathetically.

"I confronted Amanda as planned, but she wouldn't budge. At least not at first. I showed her some crime scene photos and just when I thought I had her, the lawyer shows up!" Nick unclenched the fist he had made with a conscious effort. "So we had to let her go. I put a tail on her, but she threw it. Like a pro, might I add."

Abby looked at him, stunned. _Why would Amanda be good at losing a tail?_

Nick gave Abby the envelope. "I shouldn't be giving you this. It's part of an ongoing investigation. But I feel you should know."

Inside there were several pages, on the first of which, Amanda's photo took up a prominent spot to the left. Her full name, birthday and known addresses made up the right hand side. Then the list of crimes she had been accused of started. As far as Abby could tell, Amanda had never been convicted for any of the thefts, most of which were very high profile. Whoever had committed them had to be a burglar extraordinaire. No security system was tight enough, no risk too high – but there were never any casualties. In fact, there was no violence involved in any of them at all.

Abby passed the file over to her dad. While she let him peruse it, her brain was working overtime., wondering just what kind of people she had gotten mixed up in. Ten years back in Paris it had all seemed innocent enough. Sure, Amanda was a bit eccentric, but that was what made her her. Wasn't it? Thinking back, there _were_ the insane amounts of money Amanda used to spend shopping. But hadn't that been Mac's money? And hadn't he run a legitimate business? Antiques, yes that was it. But suddenly even that sounded shady.

"The preliminary lab results came back, but as expected they found prints, but no trace of blood. Amanda's prints were on the shorter of the two swords. That's why this came through." He gestured to the rap sheet Frank was reading intently. "At the time, all I could think of was that she was indeed your friend and she had to know more about Nichols' whereabouts. So I tried to pry that from her." Nick sighed and ran both hands over his short hair.

Abby let that sink in for a moment. "You said you found her prints on one of the swords?"

Nick nodded. "The placement of the prints leaves little doubt that Amanda didn't just touch it once to take a look at it," he explained. "There are several sets of her that look layered on top of each other, most in a position to suggest she actually used the sword. But what for exactly – practice or an earnest fight - we don't know."

"She used to practice sword fighting as a hobby." Abby's voice sounded rough around the edges, even to her own ears. "She told me when she came to visit that she stopped ten years ago, after MacLeod died and Adam vanished."

"Didn't you say Adam and Duncan were into that whole sword fighting stuff, too?" her dad wanted to know, closing the file and placing it gingerly on the low table between them.

"Yes."

A thoughtful silence filled the porch as each of them turned the news over in their heads.

Finally, Nick spoke, "I have no clue what all of this means. But I sure as hell don't like it."

"Me neither," Frank agreed. He hadn't taken his eyes off Abby the entire time and she could easily see the worry in them.

Abby wanted to say something, anything, but she simply didn't know what. This situation had gone from bad to worse in a matter of just a few days. She was more convinced than ever now that Adam and Nichols were the same person. The implications made her head spin.

* * *

"So," Caitlyn started awkwardly, "you've known him for a while? Nichols I mean."

"I used to know him well when he was still using a different name," Amanda shrugged and sat down next to the other woman, carefully putting her sword on the ground. "Or as well as anyone could know him anyway." At that, a wistful smile played around her lips.

"You were friends," Caitlyn made it a statement. There was no doubt in her mind about that, not after what she'd just witnessed. "But he left."

The last one was a guess that was confirmed by Amanda's nod. "Mac's death was hard on all of us," she said, "and each had their own way to deal with it." Amanda fell silent. She opened her can of beer, immediately taking a long draught.

"What happened yesterday?" Caitlyn wanted to know. She would have liked to put it down to simple curiosity that made her ask the question, but she knew it was more than that.

"I found him again," Amanda said, "but he hadn't expected me and, well, we fought and he won."

"You thought he was going to take your head?"

"For a while, yes," Amanda admitted. " He can be scary as hell when he wants to be. Last night he wanted me to leave him the hell alone, so I guess I got his best performance." There was something in Amanda's eyes Caitlyn couldn't quite place. Her guess was that the older woman wasn't so sure it had all been a performance, but was willing to give her friend the benefit of the doubt.

"Is he a good fighter?" she asked Amanda who knew that she had tried to take Nichols' head twice now. Though he had been gracious enough to gloss over the details.

"You need to ask?" she replied anyway.

"Well, I know he can play dirty," Caitlyn answered referring to being shot. "And I know he can beat me, but frankly speaking, so can a lot of others. Unfortunately."

Amanda nodded. "I know the feeling. Fighting isn't my strong suit either. But to answer your question, yes, he's very good. There was a time though when he would choose not to fight at all."

Caitlyn had never met an immortal who was trained to fight but still chose not to. "Why would he do that?"

"It had nothing to do with trying to be a better man. Or with chivalry," Amanda explained with another one of those smiles that to Caitlyn seemed like she was remembering some private joke. "Nothing of that sort. It was about survival. The more you fight the greater your chances are to get caught on the wrong foot." Amanda shrugged. "And when you get caught on the wrong foot in a fight to the death, chances are you die."

Caitlyn nodded and took a sip of her beer. That did make sense. "But how does someone who doesn't like to fight end up in the middle of this?" She made a gesture that encompassed more than just the cabin, but the situation as a whole.

"He wasn't always like that either," Amanda sighed, rubbing her temple. "It's complicated. _He's_ complicated." After a pause she added, "but the fact that we are both sitting here, talking, is a good sign."

"A sign for what?" Caitlyn felt uneasiness creep up on her at Amanda's words.

Amanda on the other hand seemed more at ease than she'd been all night. "It means he's still more the guy I knew than the guy he used to be way back when." The answer, as cryptic as it was, was delivered with a smile.

* * *

Methos had just dropped the spaghetti in the boiling water when his cell phone rang.

"Hey, Jude, it's me, Don."

"Hey, how's your leg?"

"Better, your friend patched me up alright. So well in fact that the Doc asked if whoever did this had any medical background."

Methos chuckled. "Just lots of experience."

Don affirmed that with a grunt before changing the subject. "That's not why I'm calling."

"I didn't think it was, so what's up?"

"She came to see me and I gave her your number, I hope that was okay?"

Methos grinned at the thought of Amanda pressuring Don. He was careful not to let it show in his voice, though. "She called me. Don't worry about it."

"Good." Pause. "Are you going to be at the clubhouse later?"

"I don't think I can make it tonight." No way he could leave the two women alone just yet. He needed to convince both to play along with his plan first.

"Listen, man, the others want to know what the hell happened. I think you should be the one to tell them." Don's voice sounded strained.

"Why can't you tell them?" Methos wanted to know impatiently. "Cat shot you so you would lure me outside, I rescued you by shooting her, we went to my place. I left to take care of the body, leaving you with a friend who was waiting for me at my apartment. Amanda helped patch you up as a favor to me and ended up getting arrested for her troubles. End of story."

"So now _she_ shot me?" Methos could practically hear Don's grin over the phone.

"Sure, who else would it have been?" Methos let a smile of his own color his voice.

"Right." It was more a grunt than a word as Don accepted the cover story. "But still, my brothers seem really eager to know what went down and I have no clue how they're gonna react to Cat's death, so I would still appreciate it if you could drag your ass over here asap. Where the heck are you anyway?"

"In the woods," Methos answered cryptically. "Or do you think such problems bury themselves?"

"It's been almost a day and you're still at it?"

"I had some other business to take care of, too. Listen, I'll try my best, but I can't promise anything, okay?" Methos finally acquiesced. It wouldn't do to get into a beef with the club. Assaro may have been the president, but the patched members did get to vote on decisions and they could easily get him thrown out.

"You would do good to do more than that," Don warned and hung up.

Methos stuffed the phone back in his pocket and gave the spaghetti a good stir, spilling boiling water all over the hob in the process. How could he have forgotten that he would be missed in LA? Especially now with Assaro watching him he couldn't risk staying out here for too long. He would have to speed up his plan.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **_Sooo, it's been a while. I'm sorry to say I kinda forgot about this story for a little while, BUT I think it's the better for it because the break helped me work some story archs out with fresh perspective. I hope you'll like where this is heading as much as I do._

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews and faves - you make my day! In fact, if it were't for you I might have completely forgotten about the story ^^_

_As for the "hob" mentioned in the last chapter: I'm German, so sometimes (more often than I'd like to admit actually) I need to use a dictionary to find the English word; and as my dictionary only sometimes tells me some uses are British or American, I didn't know that in AE, you'd probably say "cooktop" instead ;) _

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Nick had left after dinner. He had insisted on Abby staying with her parents. Apparently Nick wanted to do some more work which was fine with Abby. She wasn't in the mood to take their romance into her old room, with stuffed toys lining the shelves full of teenage romance books. And especially not under the circumstances of having not one, but at least two of Abby's old friends, accused of being mixed up in bad business. Besides, Abby needed time to think, no distractions.

_Outside, on the porch, they had discussed the situation. Well, mostly Nick and Frank had. Abby had been trying to wrap her head around all "that". Half the conversation must have passed her by._

_When she tuned back in, Frank was saying, "...are the same as well?"_

_Nick shook his head slowly, "it would be a rather big coincidence if he was. But then, the swords seem to be a constant. Abby, what do you think?"_

_"I honestly don't know. I'm sorry," she said and she truly was. The two men in her life seemed so intent on solving this puzzle for her and all she had to offer was a weak 'I don't know'._

_"Maybe you could call Amanda," Frank suggested. "She might be willing to talk to you."_

_"That might be our only chance of finding out where Nichols is hiding," Nick agreed. "At the very least it might give us a clue if Nichols and Adam are the same person."_

_Abby looked from her dad to her boyfriend, unsure what to think. "I thought you wanted to keep me out of it."_

"_I want you safe," Nick said. "The faster I get to Nichols, the faster I can make this happen."_

_She could see in Nick's face that he was not making this easy on himself. And yet, the request still bothered her. Not that she could put her finger on the why. But there it was._  
_"Think of it like this," her father said, "no matter if the guy is Adam or not, he's dangerous and needs to be put away. Not only for your sake."_

Abby had been biting back another answer and instead promised to think about it saying that she didn't even have Amanda's number and would need to call Joe to get it. Joe on the other hand was in Paris and probably still fast asleep, so that call would have to wait. But it was all just an excuse. Amanda had left her the number with the words "if you ever need anything, not just now, you can call any time" and Abby knew the older woman had meant it, too.

Abby wasn't even one hundred percent sure why she'd played for time. She could have told Nick and her dad that she didn't believe that Nichols was a threat to her. If he wasn't Adam then she thought she simply wasn't important enough to warrant any action on his part as long as she kept away. But if he was Adam, then she just couldn't believe he would hurt her.

Neither her dad nor Nick were likely to go with her gut feeling on this one, though. Their protective instinct had kicked in with full force. If Abby had started that kind of conversation, she didn't know where it might lead. And frankly, she just couldn't handle an argument right now when she was still trying to figure out what her own opinion was on all this.

Abby had been pondering this question for an hour or two, staring at her cell phone as if to will it to give her the answers without any action on her part. She didn't want to let her friends down - not the past ones and not the present ones that much she knew.

Finally, she came to the conclusion that without some more information, she would not be able to get anywhere. So she dialed Amanda's number. She could still tell Nick what she had found out afterwards, that was if she got any information at all.

* * *

When he arrived at the club house the atmosphere greeting him was relaxed. It was a full house with some of the bikers playing pool and others talking in groups scattered across the room. Almost all of them had a girl draped around them like an accessory. When they saw him, some nodded a greeting.

Methos moved further into the room, scanning the crowd for Don. As he did so, a quickening washed over him. Assaro was here. Don was seated in a booth at the very back. As soon as he caught his eye, Don waved him over.

"They want to see you right away," Don said leading him towards a door in the back.

The room behind it was the club's heart. Here, all decisions were made democratically. The core members got to vote and that vote was final. The president decided what was voted on, but like everyone else he only had one vote. Yay or Nay. That was the way it was. The fact that they wanted to see him 'at church' had to mean they expected there to be something to vote on. Methos steeled himself for whatever was about to happen and entered the room. He had a feeling that his plan would stand or fall with the outcome of this evening.

All of the core members were seated around a long table. Assaro as president at the head, his vp, Bill, to the right. Don took an empty seat on the left.

"Sit," Assaro said, pointing to the last empty seat right across from him.

Methos did as he was told, hoping he looked just a tad nervous. Too much and he would be eaten alive, too little and Assaro might get onto him not being such a rookie after all.

"You know why you're here?" Assaro began, but didn't wait for an answer. "Tell us what happened yesterday."

"I was at the warehouse watching the dog fight when I got a call from Don to come outside. I could hear in his voice that there was something wrong. So I was cautious. Outside, I found Don being held hostage by Caitlyn Freudinger."

Assaro looked smug, he wasn't surprised in the least. Something that could not be said of the others.

"Cat?" Mike asked. "What was she doing there?"

"She was threatening Don with a gun and had already shot him in the foot to make him cooperate. She was requesting to know who killed her husband."

Before he could say more, Assaro cut in to explain, "Freudinger was holding back on me. We had a deal, he broke it. So I sent Jude to interrogate him and if he didn't cooperate to kill him."

All eyes turned on Methos. It was as if they were suddenly seeing him in a new light. So far, he had been the hotshot prospect, good enough to help get their money from the local businesses. But now, suddenly, he was useful beyond that. And not just useful. He had proven he was in all the way, that he'd kill for them.

The moment didn't last long though. Bill caught himself first. "What happened to Cat?"

"I had to shoot her, or she would have shot either me or Don," Methos explained.

"So she is dead?" Jack cut in, his eyes holding a sadness that said he had known her well and would miss her.

"Yes."

"Good." Assaro announced, effectively putting a stop to the q&a session. When he saw the look on his brothers' faces he added. "If she truly wanted out, she could have gone away. Instead, she chose that weak banker over us who had nothing better to do than get involved in our business. You all knew her; you don't seriously believe she didn't know about it, do you?"

Silence fell over the table.

"I want to have a word with Jude." Assaro said after looking at each of his lieutenants in turn. Without question, the bikers left Methos alone with Assaro.

When the door was shut behind the last one leaving, Assaro turned his full attention to Methos. "Did you take her head?" he asked, voice forced into neutrality.

Methos could only hope that he had gauged the other man correctly when he slowly laid Caitlyn's wedding ring on the table. "Yes, she's dead," he said evenly.

Assaro took the ring and turned it in his hands so he could read the inscription. _Thomas & Caitlyn - love lasts forever_. At that the sorrow in his eyes vanished to be replaced with anger which he got under control fast. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "She got what she deserved. You did well. Now go wait outside and send the others back in."

Methos did as he was told but before he reached the door, Assaro spoke again, "What happened to your rapier?"

"I had to replace the sword after the fight. I like the feel of this one. It was Caitlyn's," he added, knowing fully well that the last part was superfluous - recognition had flared in the other man's eyes faster than he had been able to hide it. Assaro caught himself fast, though. He merely nodded as Methos took his leave.

* * *

Methos had left in a hurry after dinner. Not without telling the two women that his plan from here on out included Caitlyn being dead and Amanda lying low with her, though. Needless to say, none of the women had liked the idea very much, but had to admit that for the time being, it was safer. When Methos had asked Caitlyn for her sword – leaving his own at the cabin in exchange – the woman had seemed unfazed, even though Amanda guessed the sword held some meaning for her. When he asked for Caitlyn's wedding ring, it would have been an understatement to say the woman had been displeased, but still she seemed to be arranging herself rather well with the situation.

Amanda thought it might be the knowledge that Caitlyn herself would not be able to take Assaro in a fight (and that her fighting skills were probably not all that was getting in the way of that). A good part could probably be attributed to Methos being at his best behavior without sucking up to Caitlyn or Amanda as well as the fact that as soon as Caitlyn would show up in LA again, she would be back to square one: her husband dead, her revenge a suicide mission and on top of that, Assaro would surely find someone else to get rid of her.

Amanda wanted to believe Methos when he assured them both that the cabin was safe and it was only a matter of time until he took Assaro's head, but especially now, sitting in front of the TV, trying to avoid any news coverage (they were still focused on Caitlyn's husband's death and her disappearance) it was hard not to think it all over, turning it around in her head until she was coming back to her gut feeling. And that gut feeling told her that something was wrong with the old man.

Not horsemen-of-the-apocalypse wrong, this was different somehow. She even came to the conclusion that the violence didn't bother her as much as she thought it rightfully should. What did bother her though, was the way he so single-mindedly sought to take Assaro's head, as if that would somehow bring Mac back. He of all people should know that vengeance never worked out. The fact that he seemed to have conveniently forgotten about that scared Amanda.

Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. Caitlyn looked a question at her, but Amanda didn't know the number. "Not Marcus," she let the other woman know as she took the call, thinking Methos wouldn't call her on her normal cell anyway.

"Amanda?" a woman's voice came over the phone.

"Who's this?"

"It's Abby. Is it you, Amanda?"

"Abby, what's up?" Amanda said, anxious to hear what the other woman might want and hoping it would not show in her voice.

"I need to talk to you, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, shoot."

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, it's just the TV," Amanda reassured her, now certain where this was heading. For a second, she had contemplated shutting her down, saying she didn't have time now, but it would be cruel.

"Good," Abby answered, pausing while working up the courage to get to the point. "Nick told me you were arrested. In Nichols' apartment."

"Yes," Amanda said, waiting to see if there was a specific question coming.

"He showed me your rep sheet," Abby took a deep breath, "what the hell is going on Amanda?"

"It's complicated," Amanda started, still trying to figure out how much and what exactly she wanted to tell Abby whose voice sounded as if she were hanging on by a thread.

"I figured that much," Abby answered, clearly frustrated.

"I owe you an explanation," Amanda said, "but I can't give you one over the phone. If you want we can meet tomorrow."

"Tomorrow..." Abby sounded disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Abby." Amanda glanced at Caitlyn who was looking at the TV while certainly listening to every word she was saying. Not that she didn't know a lot already, but Amanda would rather be careful.

"Okay, I guess that's more than I expected anyway. Can you at least tell me if you know Nichols?"

"I thought I did," Amanda replied, the deception tasting bitter in her mouth. "Listen Abby, no matter what you may think and what your boyfriend has shown you, we are still friends. I hope you know that."

Abby sighed. She clearly didn't know and Amanda couldn't blame her for being suspicious.

"Can you meet me in the afternoon, say at 2 pm, at the Cafe Dios?" Amanda asked.

"Yes, I know where it is." There was a short pause and a small sigh before Abby added, "I just hope you know what you're doing. Nick said he feared Nichols was holding Mrs. Freudinger to get the information he didn't get from the husband."

"Did he say what kind of information?"

"No, just that the arrest warrant for Nichols was still out and he couldn't be found."

"I don't know where he is either and frankly I don't want to know," Amanda lied.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yes. Take care till then, Abby."

"I have a feeling you're the one that should be careful," Abby replied.

When Amanda had put the phone away, Caitlyn turned around to face her. "May I ask who that was?"

"A friend who doesn't know about immortals and who has just stumbled upon some... discrepancies," Amanda sighed.

"Ah, that is never easy," Caitlyn said sympathetically. "Are you going to tell her?"

"About immortals?"

"About what else?"

Amanda arched her eyebrow, pointedly looking from Caitlyn to the TV and around the cabin and with that gesture encompassing their whole situation.

"Point taken," Caitlyn admitted with a lopsided grin. "And I guess you can't tell your friend about one without mentioning the other?"

Amanda nodded and with a sigh turned her attention back to the TV. Caitlyn had pretty much nailed it. Now if she could only think of something to say to Abby that would ease her mind and make her back off.

* * *

Methos was just starting to play a round of pool when he saw the core members of the Skulls go past him into the back room. Not even half an hour had gone by since they had been dismissed by Assaro. He watched the door close behind the last man and suddenly felt anxious again. Had he persuaded the boss or had he made him suspicious? As there was no way to find out, all he could do was to settle into the game and wait. Whatever might come, he'd deal with it.

When the club house door opened to admit a lanky guy looking barely old enough to drink, Methos was half way through the second set and winning much to the dismay of his counterpart, Max. After searching the room with his eyes, the guy made his way straight toward the back door. When he was level with Methos, he stopped him.

"Hey, kid, not so fast. You can't go in there now."

The guy turned abruptly, eyes glittering defiantly. "I have to talk to Assaro."

"It'll have to wait, they're in the middle of something," Max told him, moving between the guy and the door, prepared to make him wait if he wouldn't listen.

Max's large frame and sinister look must have deterred the kid. He moved around the pool table and let himself fall into one of the chairs lined up at the wall. "Fine, I'll wait."

Methos was about to resume the game when he realized he knew the kid. His name was Rick and the last time he had seen him he hadn't looked half so young, or so nervous for that matter. He sold dope for the club in one of the wealthy neighborhoods where Methos had met him for a delivery once.

Rick had been surrounded by a group of young men who seemed to lap up his every word, but were too scared to even open their mouths when Methos had arrived with two other bikers. Rick was king in his little corner of the world and he behaved accordingly. Methos had been thoroughly tempted to put the arrogant asshole in his place. It would have been fun to see him squirming, for sure, but the others had cautioned him not to do anything rash as Rick was bringing in a lot of money for the club.

Now he was here, without any of his groupies, projecting waves of nervous energy into the room. It didn't take a genius to figure out something had happened in his little corner of the world that had shattered the illusion of Rick being the untouchable king he liked to see himself as.

Methos was about to ask Rick what exactly had happened, when the backroom's door opened and Mike gestured for Methos to join them. When the door closed behind them, Methos looked around seeing only blank faces. He was left standing at the door while Mike took his seat.

Assaro let the silence build some more before he said, "the club has decided on your fate."

Methos forced himself to stand still, face as blank as the ones staring at him from around the table.

Then Assaro's face broke into a huge grin. "We decided to patch you in," he declared getting up and fetching something that lay behind him on a cubboard. Stepping forward, Assaro stretched out his hands, giving the slightly taken aback Methos a hug that might have served to choke a bear.

When Assaro let go, Methos was finally able to see what was in the boss's hand: the patches for his cut along with needle and thread.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: It's really been a while this time ^^ I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long between chapters, the real world has its demands, unfortunately. So here at least something short to show you I'm still here.

A double and triple thank you goes to my latest reviwers who always remind me I'm not just doing this for myself (which would be fine also, but having at least a few people reading and knowing about it makes the experience that much better ;)):

- David: I'm flattered, very much so (even though your wife was not ;))

- Oxnate: thank you so much!

- FerretKid & Voldy'sPinkTeddy: you are awesome!

* * *

**Chapter 16**

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute," Methos told Rick who was trying his very best to appear tough, but in Methos eyes was failing miserably. Sure, he kept his chin up and his gait steady, but his eyes betrayed him. They seemed too wide, too pale and glancing too rapidly from Methos to Jack to Mike and the rest of the small group of bikers designated to deal with Rick's problem.

Said problem consisted of a bunch of junkies who had taken Rick's stash of drugs in what some people might call a raid, but in fact had been hardly more than a bunch of guys waving guns around and threatening to use them on Rick and his posse. Rick's own people had not done anything to stop them; in fact, they had probably given up the dope and the cash without any struggle at all. Not that Rick had admitted that when bringing the issue to the table.

Assaro knew of course that half of what Rick had told them was added to make him look less like a wimp, he just chose to ignore that on account of the money Rick regularly made for the club. The boss wasn't beyond dishing out a small lesson, though. He had suggested that Rick accompany the group of bikers sent to retrieve the stolen goods and make an example of the assailants.

Jude was to lead the group. His first mission as a brother in arms so to speak. Assaro had taken him aside, telling him, "Make sure Rick gets a front row seat," before sending them off.

When they stepped out of the back room, Methos checked his cell. Three missed calls from Amanda's prepaid. As he told Rick and the others to go ahead, he called her back.

"Yes," the answer came promptly.

"You called. What's up?" Methos asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that Abby called me earlier," Amanda said.

"And?"

"And Nick, her cop boyfriend, showed her our records. Now she's curious to say the least. Plus I think she knows you're Adam. She may not be ready to accept it, but I think deep down, she knows."

"So what did you say to her?" Methos asked while mentally going through the implications.

Amanda hesitated. "I told her we should meet, tomorrow afternoon, and then I would explain."

"Are you out of your mind?" Methos ground out, careful not to raise his voice for fear of being overheard. "Let me handle her."

"Oh sure, that worked splendidly last time," came the sarcastic reply. "You shouldn't go near her."

Methos would have agreed with her if he'd see a choice. He didn't think Amanda could dissuade Abby, but he didn't have time to argue. Finally he settled on, "What are you even going to say?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something. I can't just let her poke around on her own," Amanda reasoned. "She told me Nick thinks you kidnapped Caitlyn to torture her to tell you whatever it was her husband was supposed to know."

That got Methos's attention. "Did she say anything else?"

"The warrant is still out. They are looking for you."

"Nothing new there," Methos answered, thinking. "Maybe you should meet with her," he said after a pause. "She might know more about what the police are after, it would help to get them off my back."

Amanda huffed, "if you hadn't threatened the girl, Cole wouldn't be after you like this."

"What's done is done," Methos told her. "I gotta go."

When Methos opened the door, he could tell something was off. The malicious laughter reaching him testified to that. Question was: who were they laughing at? The group parted to let him into the middle, where no other than Nick Cole stood, trying not to look intimidated. He was doing a pretty good job of it, Methos had to grant him that.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Methos proclaimed with a grin that wasn't meant to convey warmth._ So much for keeping my distance,_ he thought. Amanda would be furious, but what was he supposed to do?

"The detective was lurking in his car," Mike said, one hand clapping down on Nick's shoulder in fake camaraderie, the other gesturing to a Ford parked across the road. The way he pronounced the word 'detective' spoke volumes.

"He even brought a warrant," Jack threw in, waving a piece of paper in the air. "I think we should show him what we think of that," he added with a wicked grin and flipped open a zippo lighter. The paper caught fire, its ashes blowing away in the wind.

Methos could see Nick's jaw working, biting back a reply.

"I guess that one was for me," Methos stated. "Question is: why are you here alone?"

"For you, I don't need backup," Nick ground out. He was trying his best not to let them provoke him, but restraint obviously wasn't his strongest suit.

"Ah, yes, sure," Methos said mockingly. "I'll tell you why: your partner doesn't even know you are here. He probably doesn't know this is personal for you, either, does he?" Nick's silence was confirmation enough, so Methos plowed on. "Neither does anyone from the precinct. How do you think would they react if they knew Detective Cole was breaching protocol?"

Cole just glared at him.

"While you're at it, I would like to invite you inside," Methos told him. "Have a beer, get to know the guys."

Mike grinned, catching on fast. "Yeah, I think it's past time we showed you our hospitable side. After you," he gestured towards the door.

Nick had no choice but to comply. As he walked past Methos, he growled, "You'll pay for this, Nichols."

Methos lowered his voice, so only Nick could hear him, "so far, I'm the only one here who knows you share your intel with your girlfriend. If you want it to stay that way, I'd be careful."

Nick's eyes grew wide with surprise. Methos hoped it would take him a while to figure out where he had gotten that information from. He didn't want to get Abby into more trouble than was necessary, but he'd had to say something to make the detective realize he had lost this battle.

As Methos watched Nick go inside, Mike told him, "I'll keep him here for the next two hours; that should give you enough time to deal with the junkies."

Methos nodded. "Yeah, but make sure he's treated well. There's enough heat on the club at the moment without him deciding that I'm not his only problem."

* * *

Rick watched nervously as Luke, one of the club's prospects, was rummaging through a pile of furniture and electronics on the front lawn. "We are supposed to keep watch."

"You _are_ keeping watch." Luke stopped to look at Rick. "There's no need for the both of us to stand there and stare down the empty road, is there?"

Rick shrugged, grunting an affirmative. He supposed Luke was right. After the racket the bikes had made upon their entrance, Rick had seen several people make a beeline for their homes. Now the street looked deserted, only occasionally could he see a curtain moving and someone stealing a glance at the run-down house.

Each of those glances made Rick pull his hoodie further into his eyes, well aware of the fact that he was not just outside so the others could secure the house without him getting hurt, but so he would be recognized as belonging to the bikers. And that could be good or bad. Rick tried to concentrate on the good, though. _This is the first and last time some junkie assholes are taking your stash and your money,_ he told himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and Jack calling, "Rick, come inside." When he spotted Luke going through the garbage he rolled his eyes and yelled, "Luke, stop going through that shit! It's your turn to keep watch."

The inside of the house was in the same desolate state as the outside. Karl and Arnold were busy searching the house for the missing drugs and cash - if the chaos resulted from their efforts or was inherent to the place was hard to tell. In the living room, empty cereal boxes and plates littered a small coffee table together with overflowing ash trays and drug paraphernalia. The haphazard arrangement of furniture looked well-lived in to put it mildly. Below the window, under Jude's watchful eyes, five guys were sitting with their hands bound behind their backs.

"It wasn't us!" one of them whined in a voice that seemed one octave too high.

Jude stepped forward and punched him in the face. "What did I tell you? We ask the questions and you keep your mouths shut until we do."

All five looked up at him with eyes as wide as saucers, nodding. Whiny-voice held his nose, but couldn't keep the blood from dripping between his fingers and onto his faded jeans. Wisely, he held is tongue as well.

Jack stepped aside so Rick could take a better look at the prisoners. "Were these the guys that took your stash and your money?" he asked.

"I recognize these three," Rick said, pointing at them in turn. He knew the guy in the middle from when he used to go to Rick's high school. He had dropped out because of drug problems, among other things. Apparently, his problems hadn't gotten any better over the years. Although this was his house, which was how Rick had known where to send the _Skulls_, the state of it spoke volumes.

The guy's name was Oliver and the way he tried to melt into the wall told him the heist had probably been his dumb idea to begin with. Jude obviously noticed it too, because he grabbed Oliver by the front of the bathrobe he was wearing and practically threw him onto the couch where Oliver came to an undignified rest half sitting, half lying on his side. He squirmed against his bindings for a moment before giving up, watching the bikers with unfocused eyes that made Rick wonder how much he'd been smoking prior to their arrival.

"Where's our stuff?" Jude wanted to know, staring down into Oliver's glassy eyes. The only sound that could be heard in the brief silence that followed the question was the one of furniture being upended, upholstery sliced and wood splintering. "If I were you, I'd open my mouth and fast," Jude went on, "the guys are going to find it sooner or later anyway."

"Just tell him," one of the other guys Rick had identified urged, but a look from Jude was enough to make him shut up again.

Jude drew a large hunting knife, ignoring the sword at his hip. "You really should tell me, listen to your friend," he said with mock sympathy, stepping closer. Rick could hear Oliver's sharp intake of breath as Jude seized around Oliver and cut the rope binding Oliver's wrists together.

"Do you know what people used to do with thieves?" Jude asked as Oliver rubbed his wrists, clearly afraid to make any sound at all, let alone gather his wits enough to tell the biker what he wanted to hear.

A loud shout of "We got it" gave Oliver a break. Karl entered the living room, waving a plastic bag with the logo of a big supermarket chain. He upended it next to Oliver on the couch. Several smaller bags filled with pills and grass came tumbling out along with some bills Karl immediately began to count.

Jude grinned, flipping the knife in midair. "They used to cut off their thieving right hand," he declared, obviously rejoicing in the fact that all color was draining from Oliver's face. "But we're not barbarians here. Maybe a finger will do. That's up to you though," he added resting his gaze on all five of the guys in turn, regardless of the fact that Rick hadn't pointed out all of them. He abruptly turned and addressed Rick, "Is anything missing?"

Rick walked over to the couch, feeling every eye in the room rest on him. He rummaged through the stash and ignoring the attention took his time to assess the damage. "I think the pills are all there safe for a few of the blue ones. The heroin is missing completely and the weed is gone by half I'd say. It used to be six bags of crystal, now there's two left in here and an open one on the table."

"What about the money?" Jack prompted.

"I counted 1270 bucks, give or take a few," Karl supplied.

"They must have sold some of the drugs then, it used to be around 500 dollars last I checked." Rick said.

"Is that so?" Jude poked Oliver roughly who winced and tore his attention away from the array of drugs spread out on the couch with a visible effort.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "We sold some H."

"700 dollars aren't enough for what's missing," Rick threw in.

Jude sighed theatrically. "Only one question left, then," he said as he seized Oliver's right hand and drew it out to rest on the coffee table, sweeping away most of the garbage on top of it. At the same time, Karl grabbed Oliver so he could not struggle and the others drew their guns to keep the remaining four in check.

"Which one is it going to be?"

Rick watched in horror as Jude's blade drew blood on Oliver's pinky without waiting for an answer.

5


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the long wait. I'm still here, I'm well, I just haven't been in the mood for writing much. But I haven't given up on this story. It just might be that my updates now will even be rarer than they used to be. Thank you all for the messages and I'm sorry I couldn't even get my ass on here to answer them ^^ Just know they were appreciated 3

* * *

**Chapter 17**

"I will never leave you, Caitlyn."

"You don't know what you're saying," she answered, a sense of dread filling her chest to bursting.

Thomas was lying on the white couch in the sunny living room, looking up at her with a blissful smile on his lips. He held out his hands for her to come to him, shuffling sideways to make room for her, but when she made a step forward, blood appeared on his white shirt as if caused by dozens of little cuts. At first, the bloody spots were tiny, but before she could even reach him, they had spread so much that Thomas's whole shirt was soaked in a deep red. His smile had turned into an agonizing mask, yet he did not scream.

When Caitlyn finally reached her husband, she held him tight. "I'm here Thomas," she whispered as she rocked him back and forth. Shadows seemed to be creeping out of the corners of the room, mingling with Thomas's blood dripping on the white tiles of the floor.

"I didn't tell him anything," he murmured just before his body grew limp.

Caitlyn stared at her husband in shock. He was truly gone and not coming back, she realized slowly and the injustice of it all hit her like a freight train. The sun was gone now; all around her was a sea of deep black. In a fit of rage, she cried out, "He shouldn't have died!"

"But he did," an all too familiar voice answered out of the blackness. "I told you not to leave me, I told you you would regret it, but you wouldn't listen."

"I'm not your property, Phil!" Caitlyn protested.

"That is debatable, my dear," came the silky response, but before Caitlyn could answer, the blackness seemed to dissolve and she found herself lying on her back, breathing heavily. The stickiness of the blood was gone, but her shirt clung to her clammy with sweat.

It took her a few moments to realize where she was and why the light creeping into the room underneath the door seemed so wrong. It wasn't the light itself, it was the position of the door - on the wrong side of her bed. She was in the cabin, not in her own house, and Thomas was truly dead.

Caitlyn sat up and took a deep breath to calm herself. A glance at her watch told her it was past four in the morning and yet, she could hear voices arguing in the living room. At first, the only thing she could make out was that they belonged to Marcus and Amanda, but when she opened the door a little, she could hear them more clearly. They weren't exactly keeping the volume down, so Caitlyn didn't think twice to listen in.

"You would do that, wouldn't you?" Amanda was saying, her voice somewhere between disappointment and rage.

"I would do whatever it takes to get to Assaro," Marcus ground out.

"Because Mac would want it?!" Amanda asked incredulously. "You know as well as I do he would never stand for this. Never!"

"I would prefer a… smoother solution," Marcus acquiesced. "But do you have one?"

"As a matter of fact, I just might."

When Amanda didn't elaborate, Marcus prompted, "So?"

"I'll tell Abby you're undercover. Top secret and all that. Of course she can't tell anyone."

"But she will tell Nick eventually."

"And he will back off when he hears that you're on his side. Problem solved."

"Like hell he will. He's going to try and find proof and if he can't find any - which he won't - he's going to be even more adamant to arrest my ass. Our asses even."

"Then we find someone to vouch for you with the FBI or ATF or wherever," Amanda suggested.

"And who would that be?" Marcus was clearly running out of patience.

"I don't know," Amanda shot back, her tone suggesting she had already done enough, now it was his part. "Someone who knew Mac. How about that McCormick guy?"

That drew a derisive laugh from Marcus. "He's a stickler for protocol; he would sooner try to take my head than help us. Besides, he doesn't know me or you for that matter. Why should he even want to help?"

Amanda sighed, but she was far from done. "There has to be someone we can convince to cover our story," she said, unwilling to let it go.

"Sure, we only need someone who will look past the rep sheet and see the good in me." Marcus's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Listening to the two of them bickering, Caitlyn came to wonder just how long those two had known each other and how well. One thing was clear though: they would keep arguing for hours if she let them. So Caitlyn decided to step out into the living room and offer whatever help she could. She found the both of them sitting at the table looking up at her.

"How much did you hear," Marcus immediately wanted to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Enough to know we've got a problem," she answered, "but not enough to help."

"A problem, yeah, you could say that," Amanda sighed rubbing her eyes. She seemed more tired than anything all of a sudden while Marcus looked clearly annoyed at the intrusion.

"I'm in this, too, you know," Caitlyn told Marcus in particular who seemed intent on staring her down. "And I think after all I've gone through I've got the right to be in the loop, don't you?" she added when his demeanor didn't change.

Caitlyn didn't like reminding the biker of this. Hell, she didn't like to be reminded herself. But she knew she had to get to the root of her problem and that was Assaro, not Marcus, despite the fact that Marcus had killed Thomas without a second thought. Caitlyn tried to repress this notion as she faced Marcus leaning back in his chair, sizing her up. His gaze made her skin crawl, but she didn't look away. She couldn't help but notice the new patches on his cut and the fact that some were already blood-stained.

"I need to see Assaro dead," she told him, willing him to see the truth in her words, willing herself to focus, "and I can only get that if you get to him. So tell me, what exactly is going on?"

* * *

"You can go now," Mike told Nick. "Unless you want another beer," he added with a grin.

Nick shook his head. He didn't want any more beer and most of all he didn't want to be here, in this smoky, sweaty hole the _Skulls_ called their club house. Granted, it didn't look all that different from any old bar he'd been to. At least not if you ignored the big Skulls logo hung on one wall and the framed mug shots on the other wall, and the fact that many of the residents wore cuts… So basically, just about everything.

Creepily enough, the bikers had been almost courteous, trying to give him the feeling that he was a guest here instead of a prisoner. Mike even had told some youngsters off who had been about to start provoking Nick. That had made Nick wonder how much influence Nichols already had on his first day as a full member, but it all had become a little clearer when the door to the back room had opened and Assaro himself had come out.

Assaro had taken a seat beside Nick without asking and Mike had handed him and Nick each a glass of whiskey also without asking. The ensuing conversation had been short and to the point.

"My guys tell me you've been snooping around," Assaro had told Nick. "This stops now. You know, there's that saying 'you're either with us or against us', but I think that's not quite fitting in your case. Here it is 'you're either leaving us alone, or we'll make sure it looks like you're with us when you should be against us', if you know what I mean."

Of course Nick knew. _If they can get my department to think I'm a rat for the club, it'll be the end of me. _The longer he sat there, the greater the chance someone would see his car outside and give credibility to that claim. So when Mike told him he was free to leave, it took quite some self-discipline not to break into a jog.

When he walked to the door he could feel a dozen eyes at his back, but nothing happened. His car was still parked across the road. A quick check told him nothing was missing from inside either, even though the window had been left down. _Club protection,_ Nick thought acidly. He could only hope no one had seen his car here. Sure he could simply tell his boss why he'd been here, but then, he didn't quite know himself why he'd ended up at the club house.

Nick was just about to turn the key, when the roar of bikes echoed from the walls. A heartbeat later, they were coming around the corner and heading for the club house's parking lot. It was the same group that had left earlier, though Nick thought there were fewer people returning. He scanned for Nichols, but he was missing.

The kid whose red Camaro was still in the parking lot was with them though. As he dismounted and the light from the street lamp caught his face Nick saw that he looked even paler than when he had first arrived at the club house earlier. Once again wondering what a kid who seemed to be from a better part of town was doing with the bikers, Nick wrote down the Camaro's plate before pulling out.

* * *

"Hi, I'm Sandy, what can I do for you?"

Abby blinked, then said, "Chocolate Mocha, please." She had almost ordered a glass of wine, but stopped short when she realized it wasn't all that late, yet. It just felt late because she had been jittery about the meeting all night and morning; and having to make up some excuse about seeing a friend when her mum asked where she was going was not making things any easier. Abby felt like she was back in high school, seeing that spiky-haired, piercing-studded, floor-length-coat-wearing emo called… what had been his name again? Anyway, that was exactly how she'd felt back in her mother's kitchen. It probably was the look her mum had given her when she grabbed her purse. This look that said 'it's your life and I know it's none of my business, but I'm worried about you' that every mother does to perfection.

"Something to eat as well?" the waitress inquired, jolting her out of her reverie once again.

"No, thank you, just the coffee," Abby replied, now more steadily. _You gotta keep it together, _she scolded herself as she watched the waitress leave.

When Amanda showed up five minutes later, Abby took a deep breath. She had been checking her watch constantly while ignoring her steaming chocolate mocha. Saying Abby was relieved to see the other woman might have been the understatement of the year. The look on Amanda's face as she greeted Abby gave her pause though. It wasn't that Amanda was grim, gruff or impolite – in fact to any outsider the obligatory kisses on the cheeks must have looked like any two girls meeting for coffee – but the usual 'life is good'-vibe Amanda always used to give off back in Paris or even a few days ago was gone.

"What happened to you?" Abby wanted to know as soon as the waitress had taken Amanda's order. She knew she shouldn't just come to the point like that, but she couldn't help herself.

"It's complicated," Amanda allowed, holding up her hand to stop what she knew was coming. "I know, I know, I said that before. But it's true."

Abby raised an eyebrow at that.

Amanda squirmed a little in her seat, "Ah shit, it was a bad idea to meet."

"And why's that?"

"Because I would just love to tell you everything's one big misunderstanding, but I can't."

The waitress put the glass of white wine that Amanda had ordered without hesitation on the table. Abby could see the other woman was struggling with what to say, or how to say it.

A little while after the waitress had left, Amanda seemed to reach a decision on how to proceed. "It is him."

The sentence took a second to hit home. When Abby realized her suspicions had just been confirmed, she still could not believe it. "Are you sure?" she asked, unsure what answer she was hoping for. On one hand it would be nice to hear that she wasn't completely crazy. On the other though, the personalities of the man she had known in Paris and the man driving around town on a motorcycle couldn't be further from each other.

Amanda nodded, "I'm sure."

"But... how?" How could this be the same guy?

"This is the part I don't quite know how to explain without possibly ruining our friendship," Amanda sighed, watching her closely for her reaction. "Are you sure you really want to know?"

"Of course I do. Besides, what's the alternative anyway?"

"Sometimes we are better off not knowing. Ignorance is bliss, they say," Amanda replied with a melancholy expression on her face. Before Abby could protest, Amanda continued, "but i guess that's not an option for you."

"It's not," Abby agreed with an ever growing unease in the pit of her stomach.

"Okay. So, I guess I should start from the beginning. When you met all of us in Paris, Adam was doing his doctorate; a harmless, sometimes geeky guy with some slightly eccentric hobbies. University fodder, right?"

"I suppose so," Abby said. Thinking of the sword collection, 'slightly eccentric' didn't quite seem to cover it.

"He was all that, but he always had a darker side. We both did. We... let's just say we did some stuff that was anything but legal. But no one ever got hurt."

"Thefts?" Abby wanted to know filling in the blanks with what Nick had told her.

If Amanda was surprised at the deduction, she didn't show it. "Yes. I was good at the whole acrobatic hanging-from-the-ceiling stuff and he was good with computer systems." Amanda shrugged. "We pretty much stopped when the two of you got together. It had always been something we did just to see if we could. Like other people go bungee jumping, I guess."

"Did Mac know?" Abby asked, wondering how the Scot with his rigid belief in honesty and honour would have taken the fact that two of his friends were involved in illegal activities.

Amanda nodded, a wistful smile spreading across her lips. "He did. He didn't approve of course, but he knew. He tried to talk us out of it more than once," another shrug, "but it didn't work."

Abby could picture them arguing about this. Amanda with a glint in her eye and Mac with all the appropriate arguments of right and wrong. She could even picture Adam in the middle, pointing out that right and wrong were concepts long outdated and thus simply not applicable. And even though Abby didn't like it any better than Mac had, she could also see how the always calm, rational and cynical Adam might have needed an outlet for a darker side of his personality. Might. If there was a darker side of his personallity to begin with. "It's a long way from a few thefts with no one getting hurt to becoming a member of an MC though."

Amanda nodded slowly, taking her time before she spoke. When she did, she didn't look Abby in the eye, but seemed focused on her fingers turning her glass on the wooden tabletop. "I think, when Mac died, he snapped."

6


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N:** This may be my favourite chapter to date - but that may be due to my struggling with Abby's reaction for so long, it felt good to decide on something ^^; Plus I got to write a little something I've been dying to write for a while ;) _

_Thank you all so much for sticking by this story despite my upload habits (or lack thereof). You are the best! Each time I see a new review, fave or follow in my inbox it makes my day._

* * *

**Chapter 18**

"What are you saying?" Abby wanted to know.

Amanda shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, but ultimately, he's here and I can only explain it with the state of mind he was in when he left Paris."

Abby nodded slowly. She remembered the day he had left all too well. It hadn't been the Adam she had come to know then either. "But the violence," she insisted, "It's so not like him."

Amanda looked at her with a pained expression. After a little while she offered, "It wasn't. But now…"

Another silence followed with both women staring into nothingness, lost in thought.

"Have you met him?" Abby finally asked.

"Briefly," Amanda admitted. "He's out of control."

"Where?" Abby asked, ignoring Amanda's remark.

"You need to promise me not to tell Nick."

"So you met him when you broke into his apartment," Abby said, not expecting any confirmation. She wasn't about to make promises she didn't know she could keep, but she didn't want to get Amanda in trouble either. At least not in even more trouble than she already was in. "What about the swords?"

"They're his." Amanda's voice was steady, but her eyes pleaded with Abby not to press the matter.

Abby decided to leave Amanda's own involvement be for now. She had more pressing concerns and didn't want the other woman to fall silent. "He killed that guy, didn't he?"

"I don't have proof," Amanda sighed. "But I suspect he did."

Abby let that sink in.

"Which is all the more reason for you to stay away, Abby."

"Is that why you're here?" Abby asked. "To make sure I stay away?"

"To make sure you stay safe," Amanda corrected.

"Safe. First Nick and my Dad, now you," Abby huffed. "I don't need to be kept safe. Just sane. None of this makes sense, not one tiny bit. I thought you could offer some reasoning, but instead, all everyone wants is for me to crawl back into bed and 'stay away', 'let us deal with this'… argh!" Abby had to restrain herself to keep her voice down.

She had lied to Nick to meet with Amanda on her own and for what? Abby shook her head in frustration as she put some money on the table to pay for her mocha. Before Amanda could say another word, Abby stood, hissing, "I don't need this. If you find it in you to tell me what is really going on, you know my number."

And with that she left.

* * *

Caitlyn felt like a tiger in a cage. As if she had too much energy, but no outlet. She wanted to do something, but at the moment, there was nothing to do. It was frustrating to say the least. Amanda had left a while ago to meet with Abby, leaving her to stay alone with Marcus until she returned. It was plain to see they would not let her out of their sight for now.

The events the night before didn't help in that department, though Caitlyn had to admit she felt a little surer of herself now that she had at least been able to offer her opinion. Not that that had made much of a difference.

After all they had told her about Abby, Caitlyn had had to take Marcus' side in saying that no amount of talking would do any good, but Amanda wanted to try anyway. Amanda had seemed desperate to solve this on her own, probably fearing whatever other solution Marcus had offered before Caitlyn had been listening.

By the end of the conversation, they had all agreed that if Amanda insisted on meeting Abby, she had to try and find a way to make her back off. To do that, Amanda would stress that while Marcus was indeed Adam, he was out of control and she needed to keep her distance.

Amanda had seemed nervous when she had left in Marcus' rental (he never came to the cabin by bike). When Caitlyn had asked Marcus why Abby was important enough for Amanda to be so stubborn about meeting her, despite the basically nonexistent chances of success, Marcus just had just shaken his head and grinned, "Amanda is always stubborn." And that was that.

Caitlyn tried to busy herself with some housework to take her mind off the strange empty feeling inside of her, but there wasn't much to do besides the dishes. Finally, she took a random book from the shelf and went outside to try and read it on the deck. When she stepped outside, she forgot all about the book though.

Marcus was in the middle of an elaborate kata. His sword was describing attacks with stabs and cuts while his feet were practically dancing. He was combining everything in one fluid motion as if it was nothing. The whole thing looked more elegant than anything she had seen before. The only indication that it wasn't half as easy as it looked was the sweat that had started beading on Marcus's upper body and his tattoos rippling with his muscle movement.

Caitlyn watched in fascination, noting absently that it was her sword he was using. When he had finished, she said appreciatively, "So this is what you are supposed to do with a sword."

"During training at least," he conceded taking a big gulp of water from a plastic bottle. "I need to get familiar with your sword if I'm going to be carrying it around."

Caitlyn thought she heard a hint of an apology for taking what was hers. "Don't worry. You are welcome to keep it. It holds nothing but bad memories."

"Assaro gave it to you." It was a statement, not a question, but Caitlyn nodded anyway.

"He gave it to me when I first met him." Bitterness crept into her voice as she continued, "with some bullshit story about how it was one of his ancestors' and how he wanted me to have it so he could train me. Suffice it to say, he neither trained me well nor did this belong to anyone important to him."

Marcus nodded. "The weapon is Scottish in origin. How Assaro's so-called ancestors should have gotten their hands on this would be a hard sell indeed."

"How do you know about his ancestors?" Caitlyn wanted to know.

"I did my research. His ancestors are Italian, mafia to be more specific," Marcus said, leaning against the railing and looking up to Caitlyn.

"They actually were?" Caitlyn laughed. "I always thought his mafia ties were just another of his stories to get us to put the _family_ above all else." She didn't mention how she had always liked to listen to those stories of people who may have had questionable moral standards, but would never turn on one another.

Marcus shrugged as if to say they had talked enough about this. "So he never really taught you to fight?"

"It's not that he didn't teach me at all, but looking back on it, he taught me just enough not to get killed, and that was that."

Marcus looked at her thoughtfully. "How about I show you some stuff?"

"You?" Caitlyn asked incredulously.

"Why not? Or do you have anything better to do?"

* * *

At the office, Nick was fighting his lack of sleep with coffee. Thank god it was Friday! He felt like he had been drinking, when actually, he had just had one beer at the MC's club house. But then of course he wasn't used to all that smoke any more - how on earth had he been able to stand that when he was young and a smoker himself was beyond him.

He was currently trying for the umpteenth time to do something productive, but neither writing reports nor reading them had been very successful. His thoughts just came full circle each time and he found himself brooding over Nichols and Abby and his own involvement in all of it.

"Still no news concerning the laptop?" Charlie wanted to know by way of greeting.

Nick had opted out of lunch in favor of more coffee and some quiet. "Nope," he replied, hoping to go back to brooding without having to engage in small talk.

"I met Rankin, from patrol," Charlie said, shattering Nick's hopes. Rankin was one of the biggest gossipers the department had seen. "This madness with cutting off limbs seems to be spreading."

"Don't tell me there's another body," Nick said before realizing that if that had been the case, they would have been called.

"No, nothing that dramatic," Charlie replied, his expression changing from someone eager to gossip to a friend realizing he'd hit a nerve without aiming to. "Rankin said there was an incident at the hospital last night. A guy came in with a severed finger to be reattached, claiming an accident. But he was obviously high and the finger was severed in one swift stroke with a very sharp blade, so the nurse called the police."

"Let me guess, they're not talking."

Charlie nodded. "Rankin says they think it's gang related, but beyond that, no clue."

"Sounds like someone wanted to send a message," Nick mused, trying not to think of the message that had been sent in his direction the previous night. Before he could get stuck in his musings, the phone rang.

When Charlie put the receiver down with a puzzled look, he said, "That was reception, there's a Mrs. Freudinger here to see us."

Downstairs, the receptionist pointed to a blonde woman in her late thirties sitting in the waiting area, impatiently tapping her fingers on the back of her smartphone. When she saw the two detectives she stood smoothing out her business skirt.

"Mrs. Freudinger?" the receptionist called over, "The detectives will see you now."

"It's _Miss_, as I have told you already," came the brusque answer. She took Nick's proffered hand. "I'm here to learn what you are doing to catch my brother's killer."

* * *

When Amanda arrived at the cabin she was surprised to find Caitlyn and Methos training in the yard. While he was using her broadsword, she was using his rapier which seemed to fit her much better than the bulky Scottish weapon.

Amanda parked the rental (a different one than she had used on her way out) across the clearing next to Caitlyn's car, taking her time to come over to the two so as not to intrude. She could hardly believe her eyes: Methos was actually teaching Caitlyn swordplay which made Amanda all fuzzy inside for many reasons.

For one, this was something she had never seen him do, but she could see he was quite good at it. The way he corrected Caitlyn's stance looked so natural that Amanda just had to wonder just how many students he might have had in his lifetime. For two, Amanda remembered Caitlyn's confession of the night before, when she had said she couldn't tell if Methos was good at sword fighting because it wouldn't take much to be better than her.

And then there was the memory of all the times she had seen Mac teaching Richie… no, she wouldn't allow herself to go there.

Despite her intentions to the contrary (she would have loved to watch them for a while longer), Methos and Abby broke off their training as soon as she reached the porch and sat down on the steps.

"How did it go with Abby?" Caitlyn wanted to know, panting with exhaustion.

"It was a disaster," Amanda admitted. "No need to say I told you so," she stopped Methos before he could say anything.

"I wasn't going to," Methos said, his grin negating his words.

"Was it that bad?" Caitlyn asked sympathetically.

Amanda shrugged. "She walked out on me."

Methos looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

With a wave of her hand Amanda continued, "She told me she had come to me for answers and not to be told she should stick her head in the sand."

"You told her I was Adam, though, didn't you?"

"Yeah, for all the good it did," Amanda sighed. "I think she knows that you are the same, but the reasons she wouldn't buy. Told me when I was ready to tell her everything, I could come to her. Then she stormed out."

"What do you think she will do next?" Methos asked.

"No clue. But I think neither Nick nor her own dad are high up on her list either right now."

"What makes you think that?"

"From what she said, I would say that both of them were trying to get her to back down as well – and she didn't like it any better coming from them than she did from me."

5


End file.
